


The Blood Will Dry

by castiowl



Series: The Blood Will Dry [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Artist Steve Rogers, Blow Jobs, Bottom Bucky, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bottom Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes's Notebooks, Clones, Court Martial, Denial, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Find and Fix, First Kiss, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Internalized Homophobia, Kidnapping, M/M, Memory Loss, Minor Bruce Banner/Betty Ross, Minor Original Character(s), Minor Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Panic Attacks, Past Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Red Room, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sickfic, Slow Burn, Smut, Switching, The Met, The World's Fair, Therapy, Top Bucky Barnes, Top Steve Rogers, dissociative disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2015-02-24
Packaged: 2018-02-24 02:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 34
Words: 81,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2565134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castiowl/pseuds/castiowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>He hates this – the waiting and the hoping. And he’s expected to do both because he’s Captain America, but all Steve Rogers wants to do is punch Hydra in the collective face for scraping up the vestiges of his friend just to haunt him.</em>
</p><p>Steve goes looking for Bucky, but the Winter Soldier finds him first. Steve isn't exactly qualified to deal with the neurotic mess that is his oldest friend, but he'll try his damndest. In the meantime, Hydra has other plans for Steve, plans that involve someone who looks remarkably like Bucky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was originally going to be part of the Steve/Bucky BigBang. I started writing it in May with [Rosie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/branstarked/pseuds/branstarked) as my lovely Beta, and then I remembered that I was graduating from college and needed to find a job so it fell to the wayside. So I'm posting the first two chapters (or maybe just the first, idk yet) that I did complete. Once I'm finished with my [Hell's Kitchen AU](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2395070/chapters/5293670), I plan to continue working on this.
> 
> Title from the song "Coming Home Part II" by Skylar Grey.

It’s three in the afternoon and the diner is empty except for Steve and Sam who are in the booth farthest from the door. Steve leans forward over a file that contains all the information they have on the Winter Soldier. It’s thorough and full of valuable information.

At least, Steve imagines it is because he can’t read Russian and there’s only so much a few blurry black and white photos can tell him. Still, he’s perused the thing a dozen times, as if willing himself to understand the foreign characters will be enough to figure out what the hell they did to Bucky.

And, hopefully, where the hell Bucky is now.

It’s times like these that Steve genuinely misses SHIELD. They’d have a translator on staff, but given that much of SHIELD was actually Hydra, Steve’s not willing to have anyone look at it.

Sam lets out a breath for the fourth time in the past 30 minutes and finally Steve looks up at him.

“Look, man, you’re not gonna learn anything from that thing you haven’t already,” Sam says.

Steve shuts the file with a huff just as the waitress – Janice, Steve thinks – returns with their food: a huge breakfast platter for Sam and three huge breakfast platters for Steve. Janice doesn’t even blink, which makes Steve wonder what a person has to see in their life to not be fazed by a single man eating three meals in one sitting.

Sam doesn’t even raise an eyebrow. It’s been five weeks, so he’s used to the ungodly amounts of food Steve eats now. They dig in.

Steve presses a button on his phone and the screen lights up. No messages.

“Still no news from Natasha, huh?” Sam asks, giving Steve a knowing look.

Steve shakes his head.

“Any idea how long she’ll be off the radar?”

“As long as it takes to reinvent herself?” Steve shrugs. He has no idea, honestly, and he’s beginning to think this half-road trip, half-scouting mission is pointless. Without someone with a little more knowledge than a war vet and a super soldier with ties to an intelligence agency that no longer exists have, what had they really hoped to accomplish?

“We could always follow Fury’s advice,” Sam says. He stops chewing and Steve can feel Sam watching him carefully, waiting for a reaction. But Steve knows this has been coming. Ever since Brooklyn…

Brooklyn was Steve’s last bet and he was so sure Bucky would be there it genuinely hurt when there was no sign of him. Steve had gone back to their childhood homes, their school, their old apartment, the one-bedroom glorified hostel they’d had together in their late teens, every spare penny gone into Steve’s art classes at the local college. Now that building was almost nice, part of a larger set of office buildings that were currently being renovated and therefore vacant when Sam and Steve arrived.

It had given Steve hope that maybe Bucky had gone back, had found some familiarity and made his way there, to the city they grew up in. It was all for naught. If Bucky had been there, he’d left no sign and everyone they’d talked to – and Steve made sure to talk to everyone he could find, much to Sam’s chagrin – hadn’t seen anyone of Bucky’s description.

Going off of nothing more than the belief that Bucky had remembered something about himself wasn’t giving them answers, so maybe Sam was right. Maybe they should listen to Fury, even if following Fury’s intel meant giving up the hope that the person wandering around was his best friend and not some mindless assassin without a mission.

“I think you’re right,” Steve says and he sees Sam physically relax and stab some scrambled egg with his fork.

“Fury’s intel should lead us to some answers, if not to the guy himself,” Sam says with a bit more optimism than should be allowed, given the likelihood of this actually turning up a real lead. Still, it’s better than doing nothing, which is what Steve feels like they’re doing now.

“He sent the coordinates to my phone,” Steve says, taking a too-big bite of pancake. “We can leave tonight if you’re up for it.” His words are muffled around food and Sam barely resists rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m up for it. Waterville, Maine, here we come.” 

  


* * *

  


The Knotty Pine Motel.

“There could not be a better place,” Sam quotes the sign in the front that’s been whitewashed by the ocean breeze. He stretches his arms over his head and there are a few audible pops to which Steve raises an eyebrow.

“Hey, not all of us were built for four-hour drives in the middle of the night,” Sam says and Steve only feels bad for a moment. This trip isn’t about either of them and they both know that.

“It’s two more hours ‘til Waterville,” Steve says, staring down at his phone.

“Yeah, and we’ll leave first thing tomorrow,” Sam says. He goes over to the trunk of the gray Civic Sam graciously lent them for their mission and pulls out his overnight bag. “We’re not gonna find anything more at three in the morning we won’t find at nine, all right? In case you didn’t notice, I’m not some super soldier with Red Bull in my veins instead of blood. I need to sleep. In someplace other than my car.”

It must be his final word because he heads toward the door of the motel’s reception area. Steve lingers behind. He hates this. He hates stopping when he could be one step closer to some answers he’s in desperate need of. But Sam’s right, and Steve’s beginning to hate that about him; they have to stop sometime and if what they’re going into is not as deserted as Fury says, they both need to be in fighting shape. The past few weeks have not lent them any time to sleep properly.

Steve sighs, grabs his overnight bag from the trunk, locks the car, and follows after Sam.

  


* * *

  


“They’ve got whale-watching tours,” Sam says. He’s laying on his stomach on one of the twin beds with a brochure open.

Steve makes some noncommittal noise and flips to the next page in the Winter Soldier file. He’s decided that if he ever can trust someone who reads Russian, he’ll have them translate this page first. The way the handwritten page of notes is so drastically different from the rest, rushed and blotted with ink spots every third line tells him enough to know that something happened, something big. He recognizes “New York” at the top, written in English, but that’s all he can glean from the page himself.

“Y’know, it’s too bad Hydra didn’t set up camp in the Caribbean. Could really go for a beer on the beach right about now,” Sam says.

“There’s a beach half a mile from here,” Steve points out, shutting the file and turning to Sam. Sam’s sitting with his knees up, his arms loosely hugging his knees.

“Yeah, and we’re in Massachusetts and it’s November,” Sam says. “Not exactly beach weather.”

Steve shrugs and pulls out his phone. He sends Natasha a single question mark as a message on the off chance that she’s simply forgotten to reply to the last 47 messages he’s sent and voicemails he’s left.

“Look, Steve, I realize how frustrating this must be.”

Steve holds out a hand. “Sam, you don’t have to-“

“I think I do have to,” Sam replies, more sharply than he had maybe intended given the apologetic look he gives Steve afterwards. “You been obsessed with that file since you got it and staring at the damn thing’s not gonna get you anywhere good until we get someone who can read it. It’s hard, man, I get it. Trust me, I do. But we’re gonna find him. You have to believe that.”

“I do,” Steve replies, and for a moment he allows himself to think it’s the truth. “I just wish I knew more about what we’re getting ourselves into. What they did to him. I mean, I know the basics and it’s already…” Steve shuts his eyes and rubs a hand over his forehead.

“Whoever we find—whether it’s the Soldier or your best friend or some mix of the two or maybe none of the above—we’ll find some way to help him, all right? I may not have seen anything as bad as what they did to him, but there’s ways to help even the most traumatized.”

“Thanks, Sam. For everything. For coming along and all that.” Steve has a real way with words sometimes.

Sam smiles in reply. “Well, I’m gonna crash,” he says and Steve feels his eyes on him, so Steve smiles and puts his phone on the desk.

“Yeah, all right. I’m gonna go for a walk.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sam mutters, punching the too-soft motel pillow into a more comfortable shape.

Steve shrugs and leaves, turning the light off before he shuts the door behind him.

Steve walks out into the cold night air, shrugging on his jacket as he walks. He considers heading all the way down to the beach, but he’s pretty sure the public access part closes at sundown and the last thing they need is for Captain America to get arrested in Massachusetts while searching for a possibly-amnesiac assassin.

He’s not sure which version of plausible events he prefers: the version where Bucky remembers everything and is so wracked with guilt that he refuses to come home, or the version where he doesn’t remember anything and no matter what Steve or Sam or any number of psychiatrists and health professionals try, his mind is lost forever.

Steve makes it to the beach anyway. There’s a short, rundown stretch of boardwalk and wooden railing facing the ocean.

He’s never particularly liked the ocean. When he was younger, swimming was generally out of the question given his penchant for fatigue and his inability to swim anyway. But four or five times he and Bucky had sneaked out to Brighton Beach and Bucky wouldn’t say a word when Steve tested the waters for himself, neither pressuring him to swim nor go back to the torn up bedsheet they used as a towel.

Steve never got the chance to tell Bucky how much he appreciated that. Being around Bucky had been a reprieve from an overly protective mother and an absent father whose authoritative presence lingered, even if the man himself didn’t. His death marked a significant change in Steve’s mother, one that wasn’t unprecedented given Steve’s various health issues, but she became obsessed with making Steve better, providing him with more than they could ever afford. Steve wonders sometimes if her worrying over him somehow worsened her own sickness.

Steve leans forward on the wooden railing and breathes in the salty air. The waves are deafening in the silent night, which is why he doesn’t hear the person come up behind him until the gun is cocked.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve turns around because if he’s going to die, he’d rather die facing the person who finally got the upper hand at literally the most inconvenient time of his abnormally long life.

Steve’s hands are held at shoulder height in some sad attempt at looking defenseless, but they slowly drop to his sides as he takes in the person before him.

“Bucky?” Steve breathes and takes a step forward. Bucky’s standing six feet from him. The gun pointed at him, a black handgun that fits into Bucky’s grip far too well, quivers slightly as Steve says his name, but Bucky’s face remains drawn and emotionless. There are dark circles under his eyes; he must not have shaved since Steve last saw him on the helicarrier, and his civilian clothes are nondescript and torn at places, but Steve’s not sure if that’s from Bucky or because the clothes had previous owners.

“Bucky, what–? How did you–? We’ve been looking for you for _weeks_ ,” Steve says, and he’s starting to wish he’d let himself imagine this scenario so he would know what to do. Right now he’s stuck between starting a fight and plausibly getting shot in the process, or going in for a hug because seeing Bucky there in the flesh, relatively unharmed, is more than his nightmares have allowed him to believe could be true.

Instead, Steve takes an alternate and less problematic route: he asks, “How are you?”

Something falters in Bucky’s expression; his eyes dart to one side but then he’s back to steely-eyed and resolute. Steve realizes, grateful for the mostly-full moon’s light, that Bucky’s finger isn’t actually on the trigger. Not yet, anyway.

“What do you want?” Steve asks, and it’s a question he knows Bucky probably hasn’t been asked since 1945 so he doesn’t expect an answer.

“I–” Bucky’s voice is raspy from disuse and the gun lowers an inch.

“Bucky, I just want to help you,” Steve says and takes another tentative step forward. This time Bucky recoils, stepping back and aiming the gun at Steve’s head instead of his chest.

“Don’t,” Bucky says, his voice deep and commanding and Steve realizes this is the Soldier giving commands, comfortable in authority if nothing else.

Steve freezes and puts one hand out. “Look, I’m not… I’m not gonna hurt you or–”

“Walk,” Bucky cuts in sharply.

Steve stares back in reply. Bucky flicks his gun to the right and Steve does what he was built to do (and ended up doing very poorly): he follows orders.

Steve walks and he can feel the gun trained somewhere between his shoulder blades, but he’s calm and collected because this is Bucky, and Bucky wouldn’t hurt him.

Somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind, Sam’s voice echoes: _Yeah, Steve, his track record of not hurting you is really great and you should absolutely put your life in the hands of the traumatized human-cyborg weapon._

But this person keeping pace behind him as they walk down the dimly-lit street isn’t the weapon Steve fought on the helicarrier.

Nor is it the man he fought next to in Europe.

Steve would like to believe it’s some conglomeration, a melting pot of what can only be battling neuroses, but altogether someone who recognizes Steve and knows Steve can help him. He has to know this. Because otherwise why would he have shown up at all? If the Soldier wanted to finish the mission he hadn’t completed, he could’ve done it at any time.

No, this man with the gun wants answers and Steve will be damned if he won’t give them to him.

Bucky leads them to a car: an old, beaten up silver sedan parked three blocks from the motel where Sam is most likely sleeping, blissfully unaware his comrade is currently being half-kidnapped. The other half, Steve admits to himself, is his total willingness and, possibly, his _desire_ to go with Bucky because he’s thought of two dozen ways to escape, incapacitate, or kill Bucky-- even without his shield that, for better or worse, is still in the motel. As each idea comes to him, it is just as quickly squashed back down because Steve needs to see this through, needs to know what Bucky’s play is, needs to help him.

And helping him, it seems, comes at a strange cost: willfully being kidnapped.

“Get in,” Bucky says. He’s standing next to Steve now, but he’s motioning to the other side of the car – the driver’s seat.

“You want me to drive?” Steve asks.

Steve takes Bucky’s blank stare as a yes, and goes around.

The interior looks old and there’s a faint smell of mold coming from the fabric seats. Some of it is leather, but there are nicks and tears everywhere. It’s a well-loved car, but judging by the rosary that hangs on the rear-view mirror, it had been loved by someone other than Bucky.

There’s already a key in the ignition, so Steve turns it and it starts without a problem.

“Where to?” Steve asks lightly, and he wonders if Bucky remembers sitting behind the wheel of Bucky’s father’s new car when they were eight, pretending to be explorers like Lewis and Clark, mapping out the streets and alleys of Brooklyn in their brand new Roamer. When Bucky’s dad had found them, he’d hollered so loud, the boys went running and didn’t return until just before dark.

“Just drive,” Bucky says. His expression is resigned and the gun, although still pointed in Steve’s direction, is laying in Bucky’s lap. Bucky stares straight ahead and Steve almost asks him what’s wrong out of some twisted sense of propriety and friendship, but he knows the answer to that question is something neither he nor Bucky can really put together, and certainly not right now.

  


* * *

  


Steve drives through the night. It’s been a quiet ride. Steve’s not sure what there is to say, so he’s resigned himself to silence until Bucky feels comfortable enough to speak.

When the first light rises over the horizon turning the sky a dark periwinkle, the gas light comes on. Steve glances over at Bucky and opens his mouth to speak, but immediately shuts it when he sees that Bucky has fallen asleep. He’s sitting up, his head lolled to one side, dark and unwashed hair falling into his eyes.

Steve can’t help but grin a little.

  


* * *

  


_Back in Europe during the war, Bucky had a knack for falling asleep in the most unbelievable positions at genuinely inconvenient times. Gabe swore up and down he’d once caught Bucky sleeping standing up when he was supposed to be on watch._

_Bucky was like that. The two years they spent fighting together were wrought with violence, blood, and terror. A majority of that, Steve noticed, was left out of the textbooks of the modern world. Steve had never felt particularly gallant, anyway. War was poison and although he could justify killing for the greater good, it wasn’t easy. It had never been easy for Steve._

_And it had never been easy for Bucky, either, but he sure never let it show. While Steve would lay awake, his mind projecting the dark faces of now-dead strangers on the canvas of the tent, Bucky would be snoring beside him, ostensibly unperturbed by the day’s bloodshed._

_Bucky’s work was comparatively dirtier, too: infiltrating at night, armed only with a few knives and a pistol if things went south. Bucky was the best so he always volunteered, but he’d come back quieter than usual._

_The first time, Steve asked about it. With Gabe and Jim on watch and Dum Dum, Falsworth, and Dernier eating and telling stories by the fire, Steve headed into their pup tent where he had seen Bucky escape to minutes earlier. He was laying down, but was too still to be sleeping._

_“Buck?”_

_There came no reply, so Steve cleared his throat._

_“Well, uh, I’ll leave you alone.” He never had to feel awkward around Bucky. It was Bucky for chrissakes. But he had no idea how to take care of him. How to take care of anyone. His whole life, Bucky had taken care of Steve, had put his neck on the line for him. Steve hadn’t learned any of that for himself. He got himself into tight spots and Bucky helped him back out. Things were different now._

_Steve turned to go._

_“Wait.” Bucky’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Steve.”_

_“Yeah. I’m here.” Steve walked over to his side of the tent and kicked off his shoes. It was unseasonably warm for May so the three layers of socks were a bit much, but whatever you didn’t wear you had to carry. This was the same reason they each carried a half-tent. Gabriel and Dernier, Falsworth and Jim were paired up. Dum Dum had his own tent, if only because he didn’t mind carrying the extra weight._

_Bucky sat up and ran a hand through his hair, then he smiled halfheartedly up at Steve. He held out a hand and Steve took it, sitting down next to him on the folded wool blankets that were too warm to use as anything other than a makeshift mattress._

_“It went okay, right?” Steve asked._

_The edge of Bucky’s mouth twitched. “I don’t want to talk about that,” he said._

_“All right.” Steve reached over and doused the Tilley lamp. A sliver of light from the fire came through the slit in the tent, enough to barely make each other out in the darkness. Bucky was laying on his back and Steve laid down next to him, elbow propping up his head._

_After a moment, Bucky turned on his side to face Steve. He reached out and grabbed the front of Steve’s shirt, pulling lightly._

_“Bucky, I–” Steve swallowed hard and glanced at the opening of the tent, half expecting to find the Commandos’ stares, but the vantage point was wrong and he could still hear them talking quietly._

_“They don’t care.” Bucky’s voice was deeper and as Steve allowed himself to be pulled closer, he could feel Bucky’s hot breath on his jaw. He placed a kiss there and Steve let out a soft whimper._

_“They tell you that?” Steve breathed. It was only a half serious question._

_“They didn’t have to,” Bucky replied. He had unbuttoned Steve’s shirt and was working his way down with his hands in a way that should absolutely be illegal. Steve then remembered that it very much was, but somehow that only made him want Bucky more. He leaned forward and kissed Bucky hard on the mouth._

_It was rare they had time together when one hadn’t just gotten off a 12-hour stand-and-watch shift, or just gotten back from a scouting mission, or were walking. (There was so much walking.) They were generally together when someone was needed to keep watch, but even Bucky’s too-pink lips and “what could possibly go wrong”s weren’t enough to convince Steve to abandon his careful watch. The imagined scenarios where Steve did indulge his desires ended with them being taken by Nazi soldiers, and for what? Because Captain America was getting it off with his best friend._

_“There are worse reasons to get captured,” Bucky had said with a smirk when Steve told him as much._

_Now, neither of them were needed anywhere until the morning. And Bucky was right; Steve knew the other Commandos didn’t care. He’d seen them make obscene gestures behind their backs and heard them talking about it playfully with one another. This was, like anything else in the military that included profanity, their way of saying they accepted it._

_Bucky leaned into Steve, threw his leg over, and straddled him. Steve stared up at him, halfway between awe and downright lust. Bucky’s hair was mussed, falling into his eyes; his dogtags swung from around his neck, his naked chest shined with sweat. Steve placed his hands on Bucky’s hips, digging his thumbs into the pronounced dip. Bucky leaned into it, then bent forward to kiss him._

_Steve moaned despite himself and it made Bucky smile into the kiss. Bucky’s tongue worked into Steve’s mouth as he ground his hips down. “Hell, Bucky,” Steve gasped._

_“You sure are loud for a guy who’s worried about getting caught,” Bucky muttered next to Steve’s ear, leaving intermittent kisses down his neck, onto his chest, down farther until he reached the hem of Steve’s pants. Steve’s hips jerked up and Bucky smirked, unbuttoning Steve’s pants then pulling them down gracelessly._

_Bucky cupped Steve’s half-hard cock through his underwear. “Fuck,” Steve hissed. Bucky made a noise somewhere between a laugh and moan and made his way back up to Steve’s mouth._

_“Captain,” Bucky said with faux concern, “I’m afraid your fans would be sorely disappointed to know what kinda mouth you got on you. That sorta langua–”_

_“Shut the hell up, Bucky,” Steve said and he tucked his knee and pushed Bucky over, effectively trading positions. Steve went straight for Bucky’s trousers, pulling both his underwear and pants off in one go._

_Steve kissed Bucky and he tasted like sweat, smoke, and bad coffee. Bucky moaned, tucking his fingers into the waistband of Steve’s underwear and pulled them down. Steve haphazardly kicked them off, then took himself and Bucky into one hand._

_“Fuck,” Bucky breathed and thrust up._

_Steve started slow then picked up a rhythm, dropping his forehead onto Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky’s hands gripped Steve’s arms so hard Steve felt bruises forming there that would heal by the morning._

_“Steve, Steve, I’m–” Bucky let out a low moan, biting into the crook of Steve’s neck, his nails digging into the flesh of his arm. He came and Steve felt the hot wetness on his hand. It took only moments for Steve to follow, spilling over Bucky’s stomach with a gasp._

_Bucky loosened his grip, took Steve’s hand in his own, brought it to his mouth and kissed it. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you,” Bucky said quietly, licking cum off Steve’s index finger in a way that could have singlehandedly made Steve come when he was younger and infatuated with his best friend, “how much I appreciate how big your hands are now.”_

_Steve huffed out a laugh and rolled off so he was laying at Bucky’s side. “Thanks, I think,” Steve said. He reached behind his head and grabbed a washcloth. He handed it to Bucky first, who took it gratefully._

_“It’s a compliment, Stevie,” Bucky said. It grew quiet. Bucky turned on his side and began cleaning up Steve’s front. “You ever miss it?” Bucky asked, his voice barely above a whisper._

_“Miss what?” Steve asked._

_“Your old body.”_

_“You serious?”_

_“I mean, the sickness notwithstanding. But you were just so…”_

_“Weak.”_

_“Adorable,” Bucky corrected, and Steve could see the good-natured grin on his face. “The way you’d have to walk two steps to keep up with one of mine. Your stick-thin legs wrapped around my middle. Your hands… barely fitting around my cock.” Bucky leaned in close to Steve, a wide grin on his face._

_Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re exaggerating.” He grabbed the wool blanket folded next to them and pulled it over their exposed bodies. Bucky reached behind him and grabbed the rock-hard bags of cotton and wool the Army called pillows._

_They settled in. As Bucky’s breathing grew even and deep, Steve whispered, “I don’t miss always being the little guy, Buck. I don’t miss not being your equal.”_

_“You were always my equal, Stevie,” Bucky mumbled, not as asleep as Steve thought he was. “Now you just have the body to match the heart.”_

_Steve smiled. “Now who’s the adorable one?”_

_“Shut the fuck up, Rogers,” Bucky mumbled, burying his face in the pillow. Steve knew he was smiling._


	3. Chapter 3

Steve pulls into the first gas station that looks like it might not have working security cameras. He tries not to think about the fact that he’s harboring a criminal wanted for high treason and the deaths of who knows how many people, but it’s hard to keep those thoughts at bay for too long.

It doesn’t help that Bucky _looks_ like a criminal right now in his black clothes, black baseball cap, and messy, long hair. He may as well rob the convenience store while he’s at it.

Steve shuts off the car at the first pump. It’s barely six in the morning and it’s a Saturday so there’s no one else there. Bucky doesn’t wake up when Steve steps out of the car, careful to do it quickly and not let too much of the heat out. He doubts Bucky has slept this much in a long time. 

While the tank is filling up, Steve heads into the store. He’s happy to see they sell breakfast food, even if it probably has been sitting under a heat lamp for a week. He buys the lot - 10 sandwiches and just as many bottles of water. The cashier, an older woman with graying hair gives him a curious look, but doesn’t comment.

He thanks her and heads back to the car with two grocery bags in hand. He stops halfway there and makes a decision. He goes to the rusted payphone, pushes two quarters into the slot and dials Sam’s number.

He picks up on the first ring: “Hello?”

“It’s Steve.”

“Fucking _Christ_.” There’s a scuffle on the other end and arguing voices, then Natasha is on the line.

“Where are you?” she asks.

“Nat? When did you-?”

“Where _are_ you?”

“Uh. I don’t know. Maine?”

“Steve, you need to come here _now_. You have no idea what he’s capable-” There’s more muted arguing on the other end. Steve sighs.

Sam speaks again. “Are you even with him?”

“Bucky? Yeah,” Steve says.

“And you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Steve decides not to mention the gun. Sam would probably have an aneurysm. “We’re fine. I think. I don’t know. He’s sleeping.”

“Where’re you headed?”

“North? Not really sure. He just said drive, so I did.”

“Look, I know what I said before - about him not really being who he is. Or was. You know what I mean, right?”

“Yeah, Sam.” Steve glances at the car, and Bucky’s head is resting on the cool glass of the window. 

“I just need you to be careful, man, okay? I know you think he’s your friend or whatever, but-”

“I know, Sam. I’ll be careful.”

“Get a disposable cell!” Natasha yells, sounding far off.

“I will get a disposable cell,” Steve says.

“What’d he say?” Natasha says.

“He said he’ll get one. Would you please go somewhere else now? Trying to have a conversation here.”

Steve can hear Natasha’s dramatic groan, but she doesn’t speak again.

“Does he seem… I don’t know. Normal?” Sam asks.

Steve shrugs and then remembers he’s on the phone. “No. Obviously not _normal_. But he’s lucid, I think.”

“Well that’s something. Look, Steve, just do whatever keeps you safest, but get to the tower at your earliest convenience. We might be the only people capable of helping him here. I know that’s hard to believe, but-”

“No, you’re right,” Steve cuts in. “I’ll try. I gotta go.”

“See you soon?”

Steve hangs up. He doesn’t have a plan, so he can’t make any promises. He runs a hand through his hair and walks to the car. It’s not until he’s put the gas pump back, is in the car, and drops the bags of food on Bucky’s lap that he wakes up.

He does so with a jolt, eyes bloodshot and wide. His right hand grips the handle on the inside of the car door tightly and he only releases his grip when he notices Steve sitting next to him. He looks down at the bags blankly.

“Food,” Steve says. “You should eat.”

“Not hungry.” Bucky picks up the bags but there’s nowhere to put them, so he shoves them unceremoniously onto the floor by his feet. 

Steve really tries not to roll his eyes. “Okay, then you should hit the head because we’ll be driving-”

“No.”

“Bucky-”

“That’s not my name.” He says it so resolutely, Steve is inclined to believe him. He sighs and turns the key in the ignition.

He pulls out to the edge of the gas station. Left will take him south and toward the tower, and Sam’s voice echoes somewhere in the back of his mind, telling him to do the _smart thing_ and just go there. He puts on his blinker.

“Go right.” Bucky’s voice is gruff but assured and he’s staring at Steve with a determined look.

Steve lets out a long breath and switches the blinker. So they’re headed north. He drives.

Once he’s back on the highway, Steve reaches down and grabs a sandwich. Bucky won’t eat, but that’s not going to stop him. Bucky watches with slightly narrowed eyes as he takes a bite.

Steve waves the sandwich in the air. “Not poisoned,” he says around the food in his mouth.

Bucky doesn’t respond, and looks out the window. That’s when Steve realizes the gun is missing. More likely it’s hidden somewhere on Bucky’s body, but the fact that it’s no longer pointed at him is something.

He tries not to read into it too much.

He fails.

“So, if I can’t call you Bucky, what can I call you?” Steve asks three sandwiches later. Bucky still hasn’t turned back from staring out the window but now he glances over at Steve.

He doesn’t respond, but he does reach down and pick up a sandwich. He unwraps the thing. It’s mostly grease, egg, and cheese. Bucky smells it nervously before taking a bite. He chews slowly and if he has any reaction to the taste, Steve’s peripheral vision can’t tell him.

Bucky only eats half the sandwich before balling it up and throwing it carelessly in the backseat. 

It’s quiet again. Steve considers turning on the radio, but there’s a whole slew of arguments he’s not ready to have. 

An hour passes without incident. They should be in Waterville soon. Steve’s going off of maps he only vaguely remembers, and if they don’t have a real destination, then he may as well end up where he wanted to before.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Bucky’s voice is so quiet Steve barely hears him.

“What doesn’t?” Steve asks.

“What you call me. It doesn’t matter.”

Steve hums a reply. “It doesn’t matter, just not Bucky?”

Bucky’s grip tightens on the door handle. “No, it doesn’t matter,” he says, but his expression says otherwise. He’s annoyed or angry or both. It’s hard to tell because his default seems to be all of the above.

“Okay, then why don’t you just tell me what to call you?” Steve asks.

There’s a loud crack as Bucky’s left hand grips the middle compartment and the top breaks from the base. He looks at it angrily, as if it were the compartment’s fault his iron grip has just destroyed it.

“All right, all right,” Steve says hurriedly. “It’s fine. James. I’ll call you James. Happy medium.”

Bucky seems to think a moment, although he’s still fuming, and he places the broken piece back into place. It lays crookedly and Steve can’t help but think of it as a metaphor for his predicament. He’s not equipped to fix this, to fix _him_. 

It doesn’t matter either way because Bucky doesn’t want him going south. He doesn’t have a choice, or at least a good one.

When Steve pulls off at an exit, Bucky doesn’t say anything. Maybe he thinks he’s going to another gas station or something. He does speak up when Steve pulls into the parking lot of a Rite Aid.

“What are you doing?” Bucky’s back is straight and his right hand is behind him; so that’s where the gun went.

“I have to grab a few things. Hang tight." Steve doesn’t wait for a response and gets out of the car.

He grabs a prepaid phone off the rack at the front of the store then looks around. What he really needs is his shield, but he doubts even Rite Aid sells vibranium. Instead, he heads into the medicine aisle and picks up two bottles of the strongest aspirin they have. He buys everything and heads back outside.

Bucky isn’t in the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! So hopefully I'll be able to keep up with this fic. I don't really have a plot set in stone for this, though, so it could end up puttering out. HOPEFULLY NOT, but we'll see.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve wheels around but Buckys is nowhere in sight. Steve can feel the panic starting in his chest, but he holds it down and clears his head with a deep breath. If he’s run off, there’s only so far he could have gotten.

Steve gets in the car and looks around. The backseat is empty, he notices. The trash is gone. Well that’s… strange. So Bucky is a _considerate_ runaway criminal? Steve’s seen stranger things.

He turns the key in the ignition and rolls the window down. It’s freezing out but the air clears his head. Maybe Natasha had been right. He should’ve driven to Stark’s place the first chance he got, no matter what Bucky did or said.

“Dammit!” Steve shouts and hits the steering wheel. 

“What?”

Steve starts when he hears the familiar voice. Standing just in front of the car is Bucky. He’s wiping his hands on the front of his pants and looking considerably _better_. 

“Where the hell did you go?” Steve asks, not trying to hide the anger in his voice.

Bucky slides into the passenger seat looking passive as ever. It’s a step up from annoyed, at the very least. “Bathroom,” he says.

“Oh.”

That makes sense. His baseball cap is on the floor, Steve realizes, and his hair is pushed back from his face and tied up with something.

“Did you buy hair ties?” Steve asks, forgetting his frustration for a moment.

Bucky scowls at him and turns away, folding his arms across his chest.

“Sorry I asked,” Steve mutters. He rolls up his window and pulls the prepaid phone package out of the bag.

He tears open the packaging and powers on the phone. Before he can do anything, the phone is snatched from his grip and with a terrible crunching noise, it’s splintered into little plastic pieces in Bucky’s left hand grip.

“Bucky, what the-”

Bucky shoots him a glare and Steve clenches his jaw. “ _James_. I need that.”

“No phones.”

“Yes phones or I can’t get the coordinates for where we’re going.”

“I know where we’re going.”

“How could you possibly know-”

“Hydra base 604,” Bucky cuts in, his voice blank as though he’s reciting something. 

Steve stares at Bucky. “Yeah…”

“I know where we’re going,” Bucky says again. He stares out the front window with a slight frown.

Steve sighs. “Okay, fine. Then you should drive.”

“No,” Bucky says immediately. 

Steve rubs the bridge of his nose and then remembers his other purchase. “Here,” he says and tosses the pill bottles at Bucky. He catches them deftly and looks at them.

“You’re in pain,” Steve explains. “You do this thing with your jaw where you… Doesn’t matter. Just take ‘em. You’ll feel better.” Steve’s not actually sure if that’s true. If Bucky is anything like him, then they’ll have no effect at all.

Bucky takes four, dry swallowing them like it’s nothing, and tosses the bottles into the glove compartment. He shuts the compartment with a snap and says, “Get back on Main Street.”

They drive for awhile until they hit the city proper. It’s a sprawling town with few cars out, even on the main roads. He follows Bucky’s curt instructions into an area with an abundance of restaurants and nail salons. “Turn in here,” Bucky says.

“You sure? This is a-”

“I’m sure,” Bucky snaps so Steve pulls into a parking space just outside the Waterville Centre Shopping Mall.

“There’s a Hydra station in a mall. Honestly, I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.”

Bucky doesn’t reply, just gets out of the car and starts walking toward the entrance. Steve jogs to catch up.

“Whoa, whoa, wait!” Steve says and he puts a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky turns quickly and pushes Steve’s hand away, looking halfway between furious and panicked.

“Sorry,” Steve says immediately, hands up. “I just- Don’t we want to make a plan or something first?”

Bucky gives him a look that might be annoyance or possibly confusion before he turns and continues walking.

“Okay, no plan then,” Steve mutters and follows Bucky into the mall. 

Bucky may not look like he belongs, but he certainly knows where he’s going. He walks straight to the other side of the mall and into an area marked for personnel only. Steve is more cautious, glancing around before slipping through the door. Bucky is much less subtle. He breaks the handle off a door when it gets stuck and Steve cringes as the metal folds like paper in his grip.

Bucky leads them to a set of stairs that go down, then pushes aside a busted door to reveal an elevator. He gets in and presses the only button inside. Steve almost expects the thing not to work, it’s so old looking, but the doors shut and they move slowly and noiselessly down.

“I guess you’ve been here before,” Steve comments. Bucky doesn’t reply. The elevator shudders to a stop and the lights flicker before shutting off completely.

Bucky steps forward and with the sound of scraping metal on metal, the elevator doors are forced open. Red emergency lights shine through, giving Steve just enough light to see that the room before them is large. It looks like it used to be a lab of some sort. Beakers, test tubes, microscopes, and petri dishes are all smashed and littered on the tiled floor.

“Let me go first,” Steve says. Bucky doesn’t react, but lets Steve step out of the elevator before following him.

The room is fairly large. At least twenty metal tables are bolted into the floor, most of them cleared off, laboratory equipment all over the floor. Steve carefully steps over the broken glass and heads toward the back where a set of double doors are propped open.

The next room is smaller and seems to be some sort of control room. A large pane of glass looks into another room that is pitch dark. In front of the window is a series of computers that look dated, but the blinking lights show they’re still functional. Steve presses a button and is surprised when the screen lights up. It asks for a password. He pulls out the chair and sits. He thinks for a moment before clicking OK without typing a password. The screen loads, then logs in.

Steve lets out a light laugh, but a window pops up warning him that as a guest, he has limited access to classified files. At least it’s something. He pulls out his wallet and sticks the thumbdrive Natasha had forced him to take with him everywhere into the port on the side of the computer. Tony had programmed it to start automatically downloading everything so Steve wouldn’t even have to work for it. 

Steve sits back in the chair and realizes suddenly that he hasn’t heard Bucky at all. He turns around, but he’s not in the room. Steve gets up and goes back into the lab room, but again it’s empty. Did he realize there was nothing here and go back upstairs? No, the elevator is still sitting there, doors wide open. Steve turns back to the computer room. There’s only one other room he knows of and it’s the one behind the glass.

He sees the door to the left of the computers. If Bucky slipped through without Steve noticing, he’s slyer than Steve ever gave him credit for. Steve steps through the door and into a darkened hallway. He follows it a few feet to another door that’s sitting open. Steve can’t see where the window is in the room, but it must be against the far wall if his sense of direction is anything to go by. Steve feels along the wall and hopes if the computers work, there’s some form of electricity left to shed some light on this place. His fingers finally hit something and he flicks on the light.

He regrets it immediately.

He’s seen the pictures in the file, has seen close ups of the chair, of a needle, of a series of chemical equations, of the frosted glass of the cryochamber.

But seeing it all in stark, fluorescent lighting is striking. 

Steve spots Bucky immediately. He has his back to Steve and appears to be shaking. Crying, maybe? Steve steps forward and clears his throat. “Buck- James?”

The shaking in Bucky’s shoulders immediately stops. His back straightens and he turns toward Steve slowly. Steve hates the look on his face because he recognizes it so well. Dead, cold, unfeeling - this is the man he fought on the bridge.

“Hey, it’s me, Buck. It’s Steve. Remember? We came here tog-”

Bucky comes at him lightning fast, wrapping his left hand around Steve’s throat, picking him off the ground and slamming him hard into the wall. Steve’s head cracks against the wall and his vision turns blotchy for a moment. 

“Bucky,” Steve wheezes. The metal fingers of Bucky’s hand tighten. His face is twisted into something furious and unrecognizable. Steve’s fingers claw uselessly at Bucky’s arm. 

Suddenly, Bucky lets go. Steve drops to the ground and heaves in huge breaths. He gets to his hands and knees and coughs a couple times. He looks up at Bucky, but his expression is blank. This is Bucky like he’s never seen him. The deadened look isn’t bordering on rage, but rather complacency or resignation.

Steve sits back against the wall, never taking his eye off Bucky while he catches his breath. A minute passes, then two, then who knows how long. Steve stands up slowly. Bucky’s blank expression doesn’t change and his eyes stare straight through Steve, focused somewhere past his left shoulder.

“James?” Steve says softly. 

Bucky’s eyes lift slightly and land hesitantly on Steve’s face before he faints, dropping heavily to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> actually posting this from home which is just UNHEARD OF
> 
> probably won't be able to write and post the next chapter until friday or, more likely, next week since i have off on thursday etc etc. 
> 
> thanks for reading!!


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky wakes up when Steve is speeding down the highway headed south. He sits up abruptly and nearly takes Steve’s head off, instead ripping the head of the seat clean off.

“Jesus!” Steve shouts and swerves. “Bucky- James! _Whatever!_ Stop!” Steve slams on the breaks as he pulls off the highway, a tractor trailer blaring its disdain as he does so. Steve jumps out of the car, ready to defend himself, but when Bucky gets out, he has to lean against the car door just to stay upright. 

Then Bucky heaves and vomits on the pavement. He takes a couple steps forward toward traffic and Steve lunges out to grab him and force him back. “Hey, hey. It’s okay,” Steve says.

“Net, net, pozhaluysta. Ne trogayte menya,” Bucky says weakly and pushes Steve away. “Pozhaluysta,” he says again. “Pozhaluysta.” He devolves into shaking, heaving breaths so that Steve has to practically carry him to the guardrail. Steve forces him to sit and he’s still muttering in what has to be Russian. 

“I can’t understand you,” Steve says desperately. “What do you need? What’s wrong?”

“Ne stav'te menya obratno. Eto tak kholodno,” he whimpers. “Kholodno. Kholodno.”

“James? We have to get back in the car,” Steve says carefully. “C’mon.” He stands and tugs lightly on Bucky’s arm and he actually stands up, although he has to lean heavily on Steve to do so.

“Ya zhaleyu, chto ne udalos',” Bucky mutters. Steve leans him against the car so he can move the seatbelt that’s lying on the seat. “Ya podchinilsya. Nakazanii menya.” Bucky pushes off the car right into Steve who catches him by the upperarms. “Nakazat' menya!” Bucky shouts this time, and he pulls his left arm free to grab Steve’s wrist in a vice grip. 

Steve panics for a moment, knowing Bucky has the ability to snap it like a twig if he sees fit. But instead Bucky pulls Steves hand up to his face and closes his eyes. 

Steve furrows his brow and stares at his hand upon Bucky’s cheek. His thumb moves slightly, pushing down the rough hairs there.

Bucky’s eyes dart down and to the side, refusing to meet Steve’s gaze.

“Let’s get in the car,” Steve says quietly.

Whether Bucky actually understands him or not, he follows the order, sliding into the backseat without another word.

It’s close to 8 hours to New York City, maybe less considering how fast Steve is driving down 95. 

He stops once at a gas station to fill up and use the bathroom. He’s nervous to let Bucky out of his sight; he doesn’t want another episode when he’s not there to stop him or take the brunt of it. But Bucky is sitting in the backseat staring out the window when Steve comes back out, so they drive on.

Getting into New York City is a whole other ordeal. Steve can see through the rear-view mirror that Bucky is pale and sickly. Steve hates the driving in the city just as much, but Bucky looks like he’s ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. 

Steve parks haphazardly in what he assumes is the normal parking by Stark’s Tower. On his bike he can drive straight into the massive two-story garage, but he doubts the Tower’s security system will let this stolen vehicle through.

Bucky doesn’t get out of the car until Steve opens the door for him. He steps out and looks warily at the Tower. It’s intimidating, Steve knows. He basically had the same reaction when he first saw it. It was followed quickly by disdain. He has a special distaste for modern architecture that’s epitomized in Stark Tower.

Steve walks in through the front doors. He’s been through the front once before, and it’s largely unchanged. A large desk sits at the far end of the spacious room. There’s no one behind the counter, but as soon as they’re past the threshold, a familiar voice echoes from somewhere unseen.

“Welcome back, Captain Rogers. Mr. Stark is on the tenth floor awaiting your arrival. Ms. Romanoff is with him.”

“Thanks, Jarvis,” Steve says and quickly leads Bucky to the elevator. Once inside, the doors automatically close and it starts moving up. Steve glances over at Bucky, but if he’s thinking about the elevator at the Hydra base, it doesn’t show. He looks more calm now than he has in the past 6 hours. 

The elevator ride is fast and as soon as the doors open, Steve can hear Tony and Natasha arguing.

They stop as soon as Steve and Bucky step into view. Natasha stands up from the couch she was sitting on the arm of and Tony just turns and crosses his arms across his chest.

“Jarvis, do it,” Natasha says.

“Um, sorry, whose hyper-intelligent AI is he again?” Tony asks, turning to her.

Natasha glares at him.

“Because I was under the impression he was mine,” Tony continues, unperturbed. He steps quickly toward Steve and Bucky. “Welcome back, Cap. Missed ya. Really. Met your friend, though. Sam? I like him. Brilliant guy. You know I’ve been working on those wings of his-”

“Tony,” Steve cuts in.

“Right,” he says. He turns to Bucky and extends a hand. “I hear you tried to kill my friends. Bang up job in D.C.”

Bucky’s expression doesn’t change and his eyes are pointed vaguely in Tony’s direction, but not at his face. 

“Right,” Tony says, taking his hand back and then clapping once. “Well, let’s sit!”

“Tony,” Natasha says, stepping forward. It’s a warning and Steve looks at her.

“What’s going on?” Steve asks.

Natasha finally looks at him. “Steve, it’s not safe-”

“Don’t,” Steve says immediately. His hand wraps protectively around Bucky’s wrist before he knows what he’s doing. “He’s fine, Natasha.”

“He’s _not_ fine,” Natasha retorts. “You know as well as I do-”

“I’m not discussing this,” Steve snaps. He turns to Tony. “I’m bringing him up. If you need me-”

Tony waves his hand. “I know where to find you. Or Jarvis does, which is basically the same thing.”

“C’mon,” Steve says and pulls at Bucky’s wrist until he follows him back to the elevator. Steve’s floor (this still baffles him) is only three floors up from the main area where Tony and Natasha are. 

Steve’s surprised to see a duffel bag sitting in the hall when the elevator doors open onto his floor. He realizes it’s Sam’s, which means he’s probably been staying on his floor while Steve was missing.

There are three rooms on his floor - a small living area with a top-of-the-line television and miscellaneous and comfy furniture, Steve’s bedroom, and two guest bedrooms. He’s not sure why there are so many bedrooms on his floor since Nat has a floor just above his with one bedroom and a boxing gym, but he’s never asked. Especially not now since they clearly come in handy.

Steve doesn’t want to think about Natasha. A part of him knows she’s right, knows it deep down where it’s improperly buried and bound to resurface at a really inappropriate time. But the other, more aggressive part of him sees Bucky, sees his friend, and sees that he’s suffering and needs help. And who is Steve to turn his back on him now when he knows for a fact that Bucky would never do that?

Would have never _done_ that.

“You can stay here,” Steve says wearily. He finally drops Bucky’s wrist when he enters the guest bedroom at the end of the hall. It’s decorated plainly without any real furnishings besides the bed, a nightstand, and a dresser. Steve’s entire floor is vaguely plain without any real dressing. Steve had wondered whether Tony had wanted him to decorate for himself, but that just wasn’t going to happen. 

“There's a bathroom in every room,” Steve continues softly. 

Bucky walks over to the bed and presses his right palm against the comforter. He hasn’t spoken a word of English in hours so Steve wonders if he even understands anything that he’s saying.

“James?” Steve says.

Bucky turns to look at him, but doesn’t respond.

“I have to talk to Natasha and Tony. I’ll be just downstairs. If you need anything, you can just ask Jarvis. He’s… like a robot. He hears and sees everything we do. Which is supposed to be comforting, but… Well, he’s helpful, I guess.”

“I’m happy to assist, sir,” Jarvis intones. 

Steve watches Bucky for a moment. He looks lost and Steve doesn’t know how to ground him. Steve doesn’t want to leave him alone. He can think of a million things that could go wrong, but he also trusts that Jarvis will tell him if anything suspicious happens. He leaves the door open behind him when he leaves. 

  


* * *

  


Natasha and Tony are both sitting now, pointedly not talking. Natasha is thumbing through her phone while Tony taps on what looks like a see-through tablet. Steve has learned not ask unless he has time for a two-hour long rant about how far along technology could be if Apple and Windows got their heads out of their asses.

Natasha looks up when Steve steps out of the elevator but doesn’t say a word, for which he’s grateful.

“Where’s Sam?” Steve asks.

“Went to pick up Bruce at the airport,” Tony replies, not looking up from his tablet.

There are so many things wrong with that sentence, Steve doesn’t know where to begin.

“Tony was getting annoyed,” Natasha explains.

“He kept pestering-”

“Talking,” Natasha corrects.

“ _Pestering_ ,” Tony continues bitterly, “me about his wings and whether we’d heard from you and asking how I don’t have cameras installed on every building across America. So I sent him to pick up Bruce.”

“Bruce took a plane?” Steve asks.

Tony looks at Steve and his expression changes. “Hadn’t thought of that,” Tony says. Then he waves his hand in the air. “I’m sure it was fine. Haven’t heard any news reports, so yeah. It was fine.” He looks less certain than he sounds.

“They’ll be here in ten minutes,” Natasha says, looking down at her phone. She pockets it and adds, “Bruce just texted me.”

Tony frowns. “Why’d he text you? He didn’t text me.”

Natasha ignores him. “Steve, we need to talk about this.”

“I know,” Steve says. He walks over to the corner couch they’re seated on and sits between them, leaning into the back of the couch gratefully. “I want Sam here.”

“So you’ll have one more person on your team?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“This isn’t about _teams_ ,” Steve snaps, then he sighs. “Sorry. But no, that’s not why. Sam knows more about this than any of us probably. I mean, obviously he’s never seen this specifically, but he’s worked with people like Bucky and maybe he can help. What other choice is there?”

“James?” Natasha asks.

“He didn’t want to be called Bucky, so we compromised.”

“How sweet,” Tony says.

“So, he’s talking?” Natasha asks.

“Yeah. I mean, he has opinions. Or had. Something changed. When he found me, he was angry a lot. Obstinate. Then something happened and now he’s basically comatose. He was speaking Russian,” Steve says.

“Remember anything he said?” Natasha asks.

Steve tries to remember, but he wasn’t exactly taking notes. “No. Maybe. Something ‘clod’? Or ‘clodno’?”

“Kholodno,” Natasha says.

“Yes! That was it. What’s it mean? He kept saying that. And then other things, but I don’t remember any of it.”

“It means ‘cold’,” Natasha replies and bites the inside of her cheek thoughtfully. 

Behind them, the elevator dings. Sam and Bruce come out, Sam looking around frantically until he sees Steve.

“Holy shit, you really are here,” Sam says. “Man, you had me scared to death! I was writing my will. No way I was livin’ a day after the world found out I was the reason Captain America was killed.”

“Not sure how that would be your fault,” Steve says with a smile. Sam comes over and they hug briefly.

Bruce walks over and sits in his own chair facing the couch. “Steve,” he says inclining his head.

“How was your flight, dear?” Tony asks.

“The flight was uneventful,” Bruce replies. “It was the drive over here that had me worried.”

Steve looks over at Sam who looks suddenly stoic. “Natasha said you were here so I just… went a little faster than is necessarily legal, maybe probably.”

“Flattered,” Steve says.

“So,” Sam says, “where is he?”

“Upstairs,” Steve replies. 

“And how is he?” Sam asks, sitting down on the couch. 

Steve shrugs. “I don’t know that there’s a right answer to that.”

“Sure. I guess the real question is how is he acting?”

“Weird,” Steve says honestly. “Not that that’s surprising, but-”

Suddenly, a blaring alarm sounds. Tony stares up at the ceiling and shouts, “Jarvis?”

“Sir, the window on the thirteenth floor has been shattered,” Jarvis says, calm as ever.

“Are we under attack?” Tony asks, getting up and going over to the big screen that drops down as he walks over so he can flip through video feeds.

“Not exactly. Mr. Barnes has run away. He’s currently headed south.” 

“That was bulletproof glass!” Tony whines.

“He has a metal _arm_ , Stark!” Natasha snaps and runs to the elevator with Steve close at her heels. 

Steve’s heart is pounding fast in his chest. He won’t let this happen. He won’t lose Bucky again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear every chapter isn't going to end with Bucky fainting or disappearing.


	6. Chapter 6

It takes the better part of three weeks before Steve stops giving Natasha the silent treatment. It had initially begun because she’d given up looking for Bucky so early. They’d spent three days straight tracing his movements through apartment buildings, warehouses, and public buildings throughout New York. It was Natasha doing all the work and she never complained even though she had to be dead tired and hungry. He was grateful for that. But then the trail ran cold. Bucky had gotten too far ahead or had covered his tracks or _something_ and Natasha quit.

And Steve got angry. It was unjustified and selfish and bitter. He was probably more upset about his inability to do what Natasha does. Or anything at all, for that matter. And to Natasha’s credit, she didn’t say anything, at least not at first, when Steve would leave the room when she entered or when he would answer her direct questions with short, sharp replies.

“Steve,” Natasha says evenly as Steve gets up to leave the room when it’s been three weeks to the day since Bucky’s disappearance. She’s wearing her Black Widow get-up. He has no idea what she’s doing, doesn’t care unless it has to do with Bucky, honestly. 

He turns toward her and they lock eyes, Steve trying to glare but probably failing miserably. 

“This isn’t my fault,” she says.

Steve feels the rage rise up into his chest. Of course it isn’t her _fault_ but as the only person really capable of finding Bucky, it’s hard not to blame her for Bucky’s continued absence.

“Jarvis does far more than I can-“

“Bullshit,” Steve snaps.

Tony had set up Jarvis to hack into all the security cameras on the island of Manhattan to run facial recognition programming. Steve balked at the idea that that was even possible, but Tony replied with a shrug and rattled off something about it not being illegal since Jarvis wasn’t technically a person. Steve knew it was all bullshit, but if it could find Bucky, Steve was willing to do just about anything.

Natasha lets out an annoyed breath and steps toward Steve, her hands on her hips. She’s blocking the elevator from the main room and yeah, Steve could fight his way past, but he’s really trying to have the moral high ground here.

“He doesn’t want to be found, Steve, so he’s not gonna be found. That’s just how it is.”

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and looks down. “You could at least _try_ to help,” he says and it comes out desperate, a plea for help and when he looks back up at Natasha, her expression has softened.

“I don’t wear this shit because it makes my ass look great,” she says with a small smile. “Although it totally does.”

Steve furrows his brow. “You-?”

“I’ve been out every night. Not that you’d know because you never give me the time of day anymore. And Jarvis _can_ do more than I can. And no, before you ask, I haven’t found anything. But we are looking, Steve. We want him back, too.”

Her expression is guarded and Steve wants to pry, but decides he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. At least not yet. He nods and says, “Sorry. I’m just…”

“I know.” She drops her hands from her hips and walks past Steve to the massive breakfast bar. She sits on one of the barstools and spins to face him again. “And I meant what I said, anyway. He doesn’t want to be found. So he’s not going to be. Trust me.” She turns away and taps on a tablet sitting on the bar. Steve heads to his floor.

A pair of Sam’s running shoes are sitting by the door and Steve kicks off his own to add them to the pile. Living with Sam is comfortable. Steve’s place in DC had always felt like it’d been missing something. Turned out that something was actually a someone; Steve had never lived alone before. Growing up it was his parents, then Bucky, then the war and, well, everyone knows the rest. He just hadn’t been able to figure it out before because he’d felt alone in the fucking world, let alone his apartment.

But having Sam around is a godsend. Even if some days they don’t say a word to one another (and Sam is really good at figuring out when to talk and when not to) it’s comforting to know another living, breathing person isn’t far away.

Sam’s at the VA now. The transfer from DC was easy enough and now he has something to keep him occupied. Steve envies him that. He almost wishes some guy hyped up on interstellar drugs would attack the city just to give him a reprieve from the constant _thinking_. Because all he thinks about is Bucky. Where he is, if he’s okay, if he’s eating or sleeping or drinking enough water. If he’s dead.

Steve stops that train of thought before it even leaves the station. 

He sleeps.

He wakes up at four in the morning and heads into the kitchen. He makes himself coffee. It’s still dark out and will be for a few hours still. December is rolling in quickly and Steve worries now if Bucky is cold, if he has adequate shelter. Steve dreads the inevitable snow.

Steve gets back into running. Sam tells him that he’ll tag along if he doesn’t leave too early, but Steve prefers to go alone these days. For the past week he’s left at 4:30, sprinted all the way to Central Park and then jogged the entirety of it. He usually makes it back by six, but lately he’s been slower so he can drop by a favorite café of his. He sits outside in the cold when the earliest commuters are too busy thinking about getting to work on time to notice Captain America drinking a coffee. 

On the first of December, Steve leaves at the usual time and gets out of Central Park with 30 minutes to spare. He sits at the outdoor seating and watches as the employees inside take down chairs and wipe tables, preparing to open for the day. 

Cathy, a young black girl who can’t be older than 20 pops her head out and smiles at Steve. He smiles back and gives a wave.

“You’re early,” she says, her breath fogging up the air.

“Don’t worry about me,” he replies cheerfully.

“You don’t get cold?” she asks and her eyes dart toward the sky which is looking gray and promises bad weather. “Or is that another of your superpowers?” She gives him a mischievous little smile and he shakes his head in reply.

“I’ll get your coffee,” she says and heads back into the shop.

Steve looks back up at the sky and wonders if it will snow. He opens his mouth to ask Jarvis before he remembers he’s not in Stark Tower and kind of feels like an idiot for a second. 

“Coffee, black,” comes Cathy’s familiar voice and she places the Styrofoam cup in front of Steve.

“Thanks.”

She smiles widely at him and then glances just behind him. Her smile falters and then it’s back, but it looks stilted and forced. “Sir, we don’t open until 6, but if you want you can wait outside.”

Steve turns and-

God, it’s him.

It takes him every ounce of strength not to stand up for fear of spooking him, but _God, he looks terrible._

“Um, thanks, Cathy. I got this,” Steve says and she gives him a worried look before heading back inside. Steve turns a little in his seat and rests his arms on the back of his chair. “Wanna sit?” he asks and he indicates the chair across the small, metal table from him.

Bucky – or is it James? Steve isn’t sure what to call him now and isn’t entirely sure that it matters much– glances at the chair but doesn’t make a move toward it.

“I could get you a coffee,” Steve adds.

Bucky is looking everywhere but Steve, and he must be marking exits, escape routes, danger of any kind. He’s tense like something ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. He’s wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing when he ran and his right arm is hanging awkwardly to the side. His beard is full now and his eyes are sunken and dark above bruised circles. His face is gaunt and beneath the baggy clothes, he must be deathly skinny.

Steve shifts slightly in his chair and Bucky’s eyes go wide, snapping to Steve immediately. 

“No,” Bucky says gruffly. Then, he turns and walks away.

Steve pushes his chair out hurriedly, but then freezes. He realizes, with a sudden jolt, that he can’t go after him. This is exactly how it happened last time. Bucky had found Steve. Bucky always finds Steve, not the other way around. So Steve will wait. Because that’s what Bucky wants.

It’s a shitstorm when he gets back to the Tower. Jarvis informs him calmly that his presence is requested on the main floor and when the elevator doors open, Tony is there half in his Iron Man suit pointing a metallic red finger at him.

“You let him _go_?!” Tony asks incredulously. “He was right there! The past month you’ve been moping around the place which, yeah, okay. But then he’s right there within knocking-out, dragging-home distance and you _let him go_?!” 

Natasha is seated at the breakfast bar looking passive as ever and Sam’s seated next to her still in his pajamas. Bruce is on the couch, pointedly looking anywhere except Steve and Tony. 

“I had to,” Steve says and pushes past Tony to the fridge. He grabs a bottle of water and takes a sip. 

When he turns back, Tony is still staring at him, mouth open. 

“Okay,” Tony says. “Then, are we at least going to get a _why_?”

“Because it wouldn’t have done any good!” Steve says and it comes out angrier than he’d intended. “Sure, we get him here, but he would’ve escaped the second we turned our backs.”

“So we don’t turn our backs!” Tony says. 

“Steve’s right, Stark,” Natasha says and folds her arms across her chest. “If Barnes is gonna come, it’ll be on his terms.”

“It’s good news that he sought you out at all,” Sam adds and Steve looks at him, feeling grateful for his presence. “It means he wants something. Maybe he doesn’t know what yet, but it’s a good sign.”

“You should keep a schedule,” Natasha adds. “Do everything the same so he can find you easier.”

Steve nods slowly.

“Unbelievable,” Tony mutters and motions to the air. Suddenly his Iron Man suit comes apart and flies off to his lab. At least, Steve assumes it’s the lab. “For the record,” Tony says, giving Steve a hard look, “I was ready to dress up and go out there for you. I just want some credit here.”

Steve tries really hard not to roll his eyes.

When the others break off into conversations that no longer concern Steve or Bucky, Steve slips away to his floor. 

He takes a shower and gets dressed and decides his schedule should consist of things outside the Tower for obvious reasons. But what could Steve possibly have to do around the city? Steve lays face-down on his bed and is almost asleep when there’s a knock at his bedroom door.

“Yeah?” Steve mumbles.

“Can I come in?” Sam asks.

Steve grunts and sits up as Sam walks into the room. 

“How you doing?” Sam asks. He sits next to Steve on the bed.

Steve huffs. “How do you think?”

Sam smiles a little. “Well, good, considering, I think.” He looks over at the notebook on Steve’s bed with a sad list of things to do in the city.

Sam reaches over and grabs it. “Museum’s a good one,” he comments, tracing a finger down the page. “Y’know, you might consider coming to the VA.”

“Sam-“

Sam puts up a hand defensively. “I’m not trying to make you confess your sins, here, Catholic boy. But if Bucky were to end up anywhere, it’d be a good place to end up, don’t you think?”

Steve’s not actually sure about that, but Sam’s been asking him to come to meetings since they’d met, so he’s not surprised by the suggestion.

“I will… put it on the list,” Steve offers.

“All right,” Sam says with a big smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that song Fred and George sing to Ron in the fourth Harry Potter movie during the Quidditch cup or w/e that's like "VICTOR, I LOVE YOU, VICTOR I DOOOO, WHEN WE'RE APART, MY HEART BEATS ONLY FOR YOU~"
> 
> I've that stuck in my head, except it's "Bucky, I love you etc etc"
> 
> [fascinated gasps from the rapt audience]
> 
> yo, i have a [tumblr](http://castiowl.tumblr.com).


	7. Chapter 7

The VA in the city is significantly larger than the one in DC. Steve tries to memorize how many turns they take down hospital corridors to make it to the meeting area, but he loses track. To be fair, he’s distracted by all the patients. Steve always feels a little uncomfortable around the elderly because there’s every chance that just a few years ago to him (and 70 years to them) he was sitting in a shitty tent with them, listening to stories about their wives or girlfriends or moms or dads while gunshots could be heard in the distance. And now he can’t recognize them beneath the oxygen tank wires and skin cancer.

Steve runs a nervous hand through his hair and Sam lets out a light laugh. “Nervous?” he asks.

Steve looks at Sam and shakes his head. He’s a terrible liar. Sam thumps him on the back and then starts arranging the plastic chairs in a circle. Steve helps.

Soon, people start filtering in. Steve sits next to Sam who's talking to a pretty woman with light blond hair and brown eyes. She has a prosthetic hand and when she makes eye contact with Steve, she smiles shyly at him. 

“Guys, thanks for being here, as always,” Sam says when the clock shows it’s 2 o’clock. “I wanna welcome my man Steve, here. You may recognize him.” There’s a light tittering of laughter and Steve smiles at the group trying not to fold into himself too much.

“Before we start, I know this is beating a dead horse here, but I’m gonna ask again if you’ve seen this guy.” Sam pulls a picture out of his wallet. It’s black and white and printed on computer paper. It’s a picture of Bucky and as the people pass it around, some looking harder than others, Steve looks at Sam with wide eyes.

“Sam…,” Steve says.

Sam waves his hand. “It’s nothing, man. I may not have super secret spy abilities, but I can at least do this.”

Steve is beyond grateful and even though no one in the group claims to have seen him, Steve feels a little better that there’s more than the Avengers keeping an eye out.

  


* * *

  


Steve decides against the Museum of Natural History. There’s an entire exhibition called “Lonesome George” that discusses modern extinction and he’s not ready for something so heady.

The Met is an obvious choice but he doesn’t know that he can justify spending 25 dollars a day to look at the same few exhibits. Even if he spaced it out, he’d be through it in a week or two. Besides, he doesn't think Bucky has cash or money so finding Steve there would either be impossible or illegal.

Steve even peruses the MoMA site, but as soon as he sees the Robert Gober piece, he’s back to square one. He considers museum hopping, a different one every day, but if Bucky really is keeping track of his movements, he wants to make it easier, not more difficult to find him.

And then Tony informs Steve that he’s a lifetime member of the Met and mentions an antique baseball card collection dating from 1887 to 1959 and he’s sold.

300,000 trade and postcards should tide Steve over for at least a week without dying of boredom.

Tony also makes sure that if Bucky's seen near or in the museum, all guards are hands-off and they should inform Steve immediately.

  


* * *

  


Steve is giddy the next morning, anxious to get outside and run because the sooner he gets out, the sooner Bucky can find him. But he forces himself to stick to the schedule and he somehow leaves only five minutes early.

Pepper catches him on the way out and he greets her with a smile. She looks tired but happy and she’s holding a black duffel bag. She offers it to Steve.

“For Barnes,” she says. “If he shows up, you can at least give him this. Bruce and Tony put it together last night. Don’t worry, I made sure there was nothing too weird. It’s just clothes, basic hygiene items. Water and food.”

Steve takes the bag. “Uh. Thanks.” 

She nods and glances at the elevator, then back to Steve.

“I just got off a 17-hour flight,” she says. “So I’m gonna…” She motions and Steve nods.

“Yes, ma’am. See you.”

  


* * *

  


Even with the added weight of the duffel bag, Steve manages to make it to the café 45 minutes early. Cathy sees him through the window and shakes her head at him. He lets out a laugh and takes a seat outside.

The traffic is heavy on the main stretch and Steve glances around, searching for a dark figure among the mass of power-walking business suits.

“I hope that guy didn’t bother you yesterday,” Cathy says, setting down Steve’s coffee in front of him. 

Steve pulls out his wallet and hands her a five that she shoves in her apron pocket.

“No. He’s actually, uh, a friend.”

“Really?” She sounds unconvinced and raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Well, I guess all your friends can’t be Avengers,” she says.

Steve hums a reply.

“I’ll be back with your change,” she says and turns to leave.

“How many times do I have to tell you to keep it?” Steve calls after her.

“At least once more, Mr. Rogers, as always!” she calls back.

Steve snorts and sips his coffee, relishing the burn in his mouth. 

At 6:30, Cathy comes back and asks him if he needs anything else. There’s a massive line inside and she’s not a waitress, so she must be breaking some sort of work rule to do so, but she’s bright and smiling anyway.

“No, thanks,” Steve replies and feels his heart sink a little bit, a burning in his stomach that has nothing to do with his running on coffee and nothing else. 

“If you need anything, let me know,” she says and then heads back inside.

Steve licks his lips and swishes the last bit of coffee around the bottom of his cup. His fingers are finally getting cold, and when his watch shows him 7 o’clock, he sighs and starts to get up.

But then Bucky’s there, quiet as a ghost but visceral and so _real_. He’s standing closer to the table than the previous day and seems to hesitate by the chair opposite Steve.

Steve sits back down slowly, never blinking, never taking his eyes off him.

He waits and watches as Bucky stares at the crowd inside the café, the passersby, the cars in the street. 

“You can sit if you want,” Steve finally says.

Bucky’s attention snaps to Steve and he looks angry, his brow furrowed and mouth in a deep frown. But he touches the back of the chair with his left (still gloved) hand, pulls, and sits. He glares at Steve’s coffee cup.

“Um, I brought you something,” Steve says and he reaches down to grab the duffel bag. Bucky flinches, breathes heavily until he sees what Steve has in his hand, and then he relaxes a little. “Clothes, some other stuff.” Steve puts it on the table and pushes it toward Bucky who stares at the thing like it’s offended him.

“I’m sorry that I-“

Steve is cut short when Bucky abruptly stands and marches away, leaving Steve and the duffel bag behind.

  


* * *

  


_“You have to let me help, Buck,” Steve said, growing angrier by the second._

_“I don’t need your damn help,” Bucky replied, just as stubborn. He pulled on his work boots and tried to hide the shaking in his hands._

_Steve made an angry noise. “You’re sick, you idiot. You can’t work today.”_

_“I have to work. If I don’t work, I don’t get paid. Can’t be that hard to wrap your thick head around.” It was a cruel remark but since a good chunk of the money Bucky made went straight to the art classes Steve was attending, he hardly had room to complain._

_But gratitude had never stopped him before._

_“You’re not leaving this house,” Steve said, folding his stick-thin arms across his chest and pouting for good measure._

_Bucky pulled his jacket on and then stared at Steve. Bucky was sickly pale and sweating even though he was shivering too. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, which Steve was acutely aware of having had to sleep right next to him._

_“You’d never let me work if I looked that bad,” Steve snapped._

_Bucky frowned slightly. “But I’m not like you, Steve. I’m normal.” He blanched even more; Steve hadn’t thought it was possible to be any paler. “Not normal. You know what I mean,” Bucky said, running a hand down his face._

_“Yeah, I do,” Steve said. “I also know that if you go out there today and work, you’ll be worse off tomorrow. You could work yourself to death, and then what?”_

_Steve let Bucky follow that train of thought. He knew one of Bucky’s greatest fears was not being able to provide for Steve while he couldn’t work, couldn’t pay for food or for their shitty apartment or even for his classes. In Bucky’s mind, Steve was lost without him. Which, okay, that was partly true, although Steve was due some credit at least. He wasn’t a child, despite his looks._

_Bucky let out a breath and sat heavily on one of their mismatched dining room chairs. It wobbled dangerously, but held his weight. “Fine,” Bucky said. “Maybe I can get Mark to take my shift. He had off today, but…”_

_“I’ll take care of it,” Steve said and walked over to run a hand through Bucky’s damp hair. “Go back to bed.”_

_“I can’t make you go out in this weather,” Bucky whined halfheartedly, leaning into the touch. Steve could feel the burn through Bucky’s skin._

_“And I can’t let you either, so just go to bed and I’ll take care of it,” Steve said, sounding remarkably like his own late mother._

_Once Bucky was comfortably dozing in their small, shared bed, Steve bundled up and headed outside. The cold bit what bare skin showed on his face and ears, so he walked quickly. He’d been to Mark’s just once with Bucky who asked him to come out dancing last summer, but Mark, although their age, was nervous and anti-social, so politely declined._

_Steve barely had to ask Mark to go before he agreed to take Bucky’s shift. Steve was grateful and promised to buy him a beer next time they met, which Mark answered with a wave of his hand._

_As soon as Steve got back to the apartment, he stripped and crawled into bed with Bucky, placing his ice-cold hands right on the small of Bucky’s back, forcing a sharp intake of breath and few, loud curses from him._

_“You’re an asshole,” Bucky mumbled, but he wiggled to make room for Steve. “Everything go okay?” he asked drowsily as Steve got comfortable, placing his forehead between Bucky’s shoulders._

_“Of course,” Steve replied. “Have a little faith, Buck.” Steve tutted and added, softer, “You’re impossible to take care of, you know.”_

_Bucky snorted. “Pot calling the kettle black,” he said, his words muffled by the pillow as he buried his face. He shifted so he could face Steve. “You shouldn’t be this close to me,” he said._

_Steve shrugged beneath the blanket and watched as Bucky struggled to keep his eyes open._

_Bucky made an annoyed sound. “Steve,” he whined softly, “you’ll catch sick.”_

_“Well, I can’t exactly avoid you,” Steve pointed out. “May as well be useful.”_

_“I’m going into work tomorrow,” Bucky said, eyes closed._

_Steve rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, pal.”_

_Bucky fell into a deep sleep._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look up Robert Gober if you don't know who he is. Shit cannot actually be art and YET. 
> 
> Some serious brownie points if you know what Cathy is quoting when she tells Steve "at least once more..."


	8. Chapter 8

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Sam says and it breaks Steve from his reverie. It takes him a moment to recalibrate to the here and now. He’s in their shared living room in the Tower. Some bad SyFy movie is playing but Steve hasn’t been watching for the hour it’s been on. Sam stands in the entryway by the door, leaning casually on the threshold with his arms crossed.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, but finds it hard to believe himself. He checks the time. It’s ten to eleven. He should get to the museum, spend a few hours there before meeting Sam at the VA. Then he and Sam will have an early dinner before he walks around the city. He plans to map out a route so if Bucky wants to find him the next day at a certain time he can.

Sam sighs and pushes off the threshold with his shoulder and sits next to Steve, putting his feet up on the coffee table. They finish the movie; it’s near the end, anyway. A crocodile/octopus hybrid is split open and the credits roll after the group of terrible actors congratulate each other.

Steve stands, stretches, and pulls on his bomber jacket. Sam goes to change the channel, but the screen cuts and reveals that inside the croctopus are at least a dozen croctopus babies. Sam guffaws and Steve snorts a laugh.

“Museum?” Sam asks easily.

Steve nods. “Yeah. I’ll see you at 2?”

“Absolutely.”

Steve turns to leave, but Sam adds, “Steve, you know he’ll come back, right?”

Steve swallows and doesn’t turn to look back, afraid Sam will see the heavy doubt in his eyes. “Yeah, see you later,” Steve says quickly and leaves.

  


* * *

  


The museum is crowded for a Thursday early afternoon. Steve spends a good five minutes studying the map before heading off toward the Pieter Coecke van Aelst exhibit. He vaguely remembers learning about the Renaissance tapestry artist in his art history course, but it’s also nice not being the oldest thing in the room. The baseball cards can wait. He’s got a feeling that he’ll be coming back quite a bit.

It’s amazing how easily he slips through the crowds in the museum without being recognized. Every once in awhile he’ll receive a second look, but he’s quick to turn his back or move along before they can place him.

He stares up at a massive tapestry. He takes his cap off to push his hair back and then puts it back on. 

He wishes he could believe Sam. And maybe he does to a point. Bucky may come back. Maybe tomorrow he’ll show up at the café and actually stick around or he’ll take the bag Steve gives him or he’ll say yes to a coffee, but it’s all meaningless, isn’t it?

Because Steve’s certain now that the person obstinately refusing help is no longer his best friend. And it’s a painful realization that not only are those shared memories gone, but that his ignorant optimism was so egregiously misplaced. 

He hates this – the waiting and the hoping. And he’s expected to do both because he’s Captain America when all Steve Rogers wants to do is punch Hydra in the collective face for scraping up the vestiges of his friend just to haunt him.

  


* * *

  


Steve only half-listens to the shaking, bitter voices of the veterans while Sam expertly motivates, encourages, admonishes when needed, and Steve is grateful, not for the first time, that Sam is in his life. He should talk to Sam.

He talks to Sam.

Sam listens, chews thoughtfully over the blasphemous words Steve spouts before saying, “That’s valid.”

Steve bristles at the reaction, angry that he’s not being scolded for giving up on Bucky, for being the shittiest friend, the shittiest _person_ on the face of the earth. 

Sam puts his burger down and wipes his hands on the napkin in his lap. “We’ve always known that this guy is damaged. And yeah, you’re right, he might never remember you. Might always be angry and trying to kill you, but I don’t believe for a second that you’ve given up on him.”

“Not yet,” Steve says bitterly.

“Not ever,” Sam challenges, raising an eyebrow. He points at Steve with a fry. “You’re not angry at Bucky, man, you’re angry at yourself. That you can’t do anything. Captain America, the star-spangled man with a plan, can’t do shit to help his friend and that’s fucking rough. If Cap can’t even save the people he cares about, then what’s the point?” Sam is watching Steve with sharp eyes. “Am I at least a little right, here?”

Steve grunts a reply, but he feels the truth of Sam’s words deep in his bones. 

“I don’t know how to help him,” Steve says finally, pushing at his eyes with the heel of his hands. “If he wants help at all.”

Sam shrugs. “There’s not a For Dummies book on helping brainwashed supersoldiers, you’re right. But, in my experience, the best help comes from the support of the people around you. And Bucky’s got that with you, and with me if it comes down to it. And the rest of the A-team. But – and allow me to spout a little psychobabble at you for a sec – asking for help is the first step. And Bucky’s gotta do that on his own. As much as you’d like to swoop in and force him into psych rehab…”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “It’s just… Y’know, before the war, I was always sick.”

“I’ve seen the exhibit,” Sam says with a little smile.

Steve huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, well, even when I was 17, 18 years old, Bucky was working two, sometimes three jobs when he could just to keep us sheltered and fed. He did all that shit for me. Us. Whatever. And now I can’t even…”

Sam puts out a hand and touches his fingertips to Steve’s arm on the table. Steve looks up at Sam expectantly. 

“I’m brilliant, dude, but I don’t got all the answers. Some shit you gotta just ride out and see what happens. Day at a time, okay?”

“Day at a time,” Steve agrees.

Sam nods a few times then retracts his hand to continue eating. Steve looks down at his own untouched burger. 

“Sam?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell the others about this?”

Sam laughs lightly. “I don’t therapy and tell.”

  


* * *

  


Steve walks nearly a hundred blocks, hands in his pockets and looking straight ahead. He mulls over Sam’s words. Whatever he’d said had shifted something in Steve’s mind and now resignation was replaced once again with determination.

He’ll help Bucky even if it kills him. Even if he can’t actually help. Even if in order to help he has to never see Bucky again. He’ll do it. Because he knows Bucky would do it for Steve and then again tenfold.

He makes it back to the Tower at 8 and gets in the elevator.

“Captain, Mr. Stark has some information for you if you’d like to speak to him directly or I could relay it to you if you’d prefer,” Jarvis says.

“I can talk to him,” Steve says and the elevator moves. Steve realizes he’s headed down, not up, so Tony must be in his lab.

Steve steps out. The lab is somewhere he hasn’t been often, maybe three or four times and not for very long; Tony tends to get snippy if you hang around.

Steve is immediately accosted by deafeningly loud rock music he recognizes as AC/DC, a favorite of Tony’s. It’s not his cup of tea, but it’s at least better than the Swedish hip-hop Clint listens to.

“Ah, there he is!” Tony shouts over the music. He claps once and the music stops immediately.

Steve steps through into the lab and looks around. The lab is a wreck. Or maybe it’s organized chaos. It’s hard to tell with Tony. 

Bruce pokes his head out from the back room and waves at Steve before disappearing again. 

Tony rolls his chair over to a mostly empty table and beckons Steve. Steve walks over. Tony taps on the desk and then swipes his hand in the air. A translucent screen appears showing a video. It’s the security footage from the café and it shows Steve and Bucky sitting together.

“So, after Megaman’s first appearance, I decided to implement some extra security measures and-“ He glances up and stops when he sees Steve’s harsh look. “Nothing invasive!” he swears, hands up. “All I did was put a little X-ray in the camera-“

“You _what_?” 

“-so I could get some readings of that arm and-“

“You said it wasn’t invasive!”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Well, he didn’t feel anything, did he? Besides. Means to an end, here. Check it out.” Tony swipes his hand again a heavily detailed schematic appears. It’s of Bucky’s left arm. 

Steve crosses his arms and leans closer. 

“Yeah, now you’re interested,” Tony says, eyes wide and smiling.

“Just tell me what you found,” Steve says evenly.

“Well, it’s rudimentary, for one thing.” He moves his hand and they’re looking at an internal view of the arm. “Some of this is conjecture, obviously. Only so much Jarvis could do with our limited time, but I’m, like, 99.9 percent sure it’s right.”

“X-rays can read through metal?” Steve asks, wondering if he’s missed some important scientific breakthrough.

“I say X-ray, I really mean small doses of radiation that reflect-“

“Stark!” 

“Totally within safety limits! The military uses it all the time.”

“Why am I not comforted by that?”

“Can I please continue?” Tony asks.

Steve holds up his hand.

“Thank you. Like I was saying, rudimentary. Practically Stone Age. I mean, the interior shouldn’t even function anymore. I’m guessing the cryostasis kept it from overuse. But this thing is more of a handicap than an asset at this point. It’s got some serious force behind it, but see this section here?” Tony indicates a darker area in the middle of the bicep. “It’s basically a battery.”

“What, so the arm is… electric?”

“Mm. Not exactly. I think it’s for calibration, not movement. Did you ever see the arm move on its own? Like under extreme duress, maybe?”

“Yeah, actually. The plates on the surface moved,” Steve says.

Tony nods, spins around in his chair and grabs a notebook from the table behind him and jots something down. “Thought so,” he says, chewing on the end of the pen. “The plates are actually genius. Y’know, it’s weird. The interior might be a fucking mechanical nightmare, but the exterior is incredibly modern.”

“That makes sense if it’s been worked on since his… capture.”

Tony nods and writes something else down. 

“Yeah. 70 years of tinkering created this hodgepodge of machinery and now it’s Frankenstein’s cybernetic arm. Oo.” Tony spins around. “Yo, Bruce!” he shouts and Bruce sticks his head back out. He’s wearing goggles and a doctor’s mask. “Frankenstein’s Cybernetic Arm – band name! Called it.”

Bruce nods appreciatively. “Doesn’t beat Eerie Whoosh,” he says and disappears again.

Tony tuts and turns back. “He’s right,” he says sadly.

“Is that all?” Steve asks impatiently.

“Yeah. Well, I mean, besides the whole point of this, which is that we need to get that arm off of him as soon as possible.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s killing him.”

“What?!”

“Okay, maybe that was a little hyperbolic. I mean, it will kill him, but it’s gonna take awhile. Either way, it’s incredibly painful. See, the battery is literally connected to him. To his nerves and his… veins and arteries. Notably, the ones near his heart. Every movement, every twitch and quickened heartbeat is registered by this arm. Really fucking cool. For me, not him.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, once that battery dies, he’s shit out of luck. That arm is functioning as a real, living body part for better or worse. If the arm dies, blood stops pumping right. His heart could stop. Or it could work. Honestly, I’d rather not wait and find out.”

Steve clenches his jaw and tries to tamp down the anxiety growing in his chest. “How long ‘til the battery stops?”

Tony sighs. “Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? I’ve made a few prototypes.” He motions to a pile of what must be 10 or 15 batteries. “The prognosis isn’t great. But, it’s all guesswork at this point. Which I hate, by the way.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair and swallows hard. “If I find him and bring him here, can you help him?”

Tony looks straight at Steve. “I can try,” he says sincerely. 

Steve rubs the back of his neck and sighs. “Is that all?”

“Uh, yes. Wait! No.” Tony taps something on the screen and then again until a blurry video plays. It’s Bucky and he’s walking quickly down the street, the café 50-some feet away in the background. “We traced his movements,” Tony says. “We lost him about here,” the video shows Bucky in the far distance disappearing around a corner. “He headed into a residential area where there’s no security cameras. Or at least, none owned by the government. We could go and replace them individually-“

“No,” Steve says immediately. 

“All right, all right. Just a suggestion.”

When Tony swipes his hand in the air again, the screen disappears entirely, so Steve turns to go and Tony doesn’t stop him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clint's favorite band is [Movits](www.youtube.com/watch?v=LnaeImQ0TSg).
> 
> Late update because I've been reading ALL OF THE STUCKY FANFICTION. Which, if someone wants a rec - I highly suggest [this one](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2082951/chapters/4531803) because it made me FEEL THINGS at WORK which is just CRUEL.
> 
> Also, pretty sure Croctopus isn't a real thing? But I wouldn't put it past SyFy to have made it a film by the time I've posted this.


	9. Chapter 9

All that talk about a “day at a time” and now Steve finds he doesn’t have time at all. He doesn’t tell Sam, although it’s clear he knows something’s up.

Bucky could die and it could be soon. This is no longer about recovery but about extraction. Bucky has to come back and soon if he has any hope at all.

The next morning, Steve makes it to the café an hour early, before even the employees have arrived to open shop. He sits and he waits. Cathy brings him coffee at 5:45 and asks him if he’s waiting for his friend.

“Yeah,” Steve replies. Then, and he doesn’t know why, he adds, “He’s sick.”

Cathy’s usually cheerful demeanor breaks into something harder like sympathy and determination all wrapped into one. “Does he need help?” she asks seriously. “My mama runs a soup kitchen over on 9th Avenue.” She looks nervous for a moment. “Not that I’m saying he’s homeless or anything. I’m just assuming he-“

“Thank you,” Steve says sincerely. “I’ll… let him know.”

“Yesterday he came back, you know,” she says. “Looked for something by your table, I think, then left before I could ask.”

Steve stares at the table for a moment. He’d come back? Not to look for Steve; he could see from a distance he wasn’t there. So, he’d come back for something else. The duffel bag? Too proud to accept help, even now, if that were the case.

“Well, I’ll leave you two alone,” Cathy says, her voice louder than needed and Steve realizes with a start that he has company.

This time Bucky takes a seat without being asked, although he doesn't look happy about it. 

“Morning,” Steve says calmly.

Bucky scowls and if this were any other time, Steve would laugh loudly. It’s so… childish. They sit in silence for a good minute. Cathy returns and Steve orders another coffee. When she returns with it, he pushes it over to Bucky who just frowns deeper at the cup. 

“Drink it. You look like shit.”

Bucky’s glare is severe, but he wraps his left hand around the cup, brings it to his nose and sniffs. It apparently passes the test and he takes a tentative sip. He puts the cup back down on the table quickly, but Steve counts it as a win. 

“Where have you been staying?” Steve asks conversationally. 

Bucky’s jaw shifts and tenses. His eyes dart away and back again to Steve’s face several times. “I have to go,” he says suddenly and his voice is deep and gravelly from disuse. He pushes out the chair and Steve stands. He could take him, Steve thinks. He’s so malnourished, there’s no way he could put up a fight for too long. But the possibility that a fight might be what actually pushes him over the edge he’s clearly toeing is too great a risk to take. Instead, Steve picks up the duffel bag at his feet and puts it on the table.

“It’s yours,” Steve says.

Bucky stares at it and turns to leave, but Steve reaches across the table and grabs Bucky’s right arm. Bucky lets out a hiss of pain, turning back toward Steve and looking downright feral. 

“Take the damn bag, Bucky,” Steve says and holds the bag by the handles out to him.

Bucky snatches it from him and walks away.

That’s two wins in one sitting, Steve thinks as he watches Bucky disappear into the crowd.

  


* * *

  


It’s occurred to Steve that now that he’s back at the Tower, Natasha is fully available for all of his Russian translation needs. The Winter Soldier file is sitting at the bottom of his bag in his room under his bed. At night it’s like he can feel it, like it’s taunting him.

But he knows as soon as he understands every miserable, cruel thing they’ve done to Bucky, there’ll be no stopping him. Even the imagined tortures his dreams give him are enough to boil his blood and have him formulating infiltration missions in his head for the remaining Hydra bases.

At least for now he has something to focus on: getting Bucky home. Once he’s stable, then Steve will think about finishing up Fury’s tentative mission of cleaning up Hydra.

So he doesn’t bring up the file to Natasha. If Sam remembers, he doesn’t say and for that Steve is grateful. 

Steve wants to skip the museum today. He wants to jump ahead to the next morning at the café where he’s optimistically sure Bucky will appear. 

But he heads to the Met anyway. There’s an exhibit on El Greco that keeps his attention for a good 20 minutes but then he’s restless. He decides to wander aimlessly through the museum instead. 

He’s staring up at a marble statue when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He digs it out and sees Tony’s name. 

“Tony?” Steve answers, turning away from the statue and toward a corner with less people.

“Heads up, Cap. You’ve got a visitor.”

Steve whips around and scans the room, but doesn’t see Bucky. “Where?” Steve asks.

“No idea. Just got the alert from one of the security guards. Oh wait, I’m getting another message here. Uh, yeah, he’s in Hall C. Does that mean anything to you?”

Steve hangs up and has to stop himself from running toward Hall C where he’d just come from. It’s some painter he doesn’t recognize and when he reaches the large room he pauses. Bucky’s not in there.

Steve reaches for his phone, ready to call Tony again when he feels the distinct prickle on his neck that means he’s being watched. He straightens his back and walks, as casually as he can, to a random painting that isn’t surrounded by people.

Soft footsteps announce Bucky’s arrival and a rough and familiar voice says, “I remember the World’s Fair.”

  


* * *

  


_“There’s gonna be a television!” Bucky said, pulling on a sock. It doesn’t match the other he’s already wearing, but Steve’s learned not to comment. “Maybe more than one!”_

_“Sounds like a good time,” Steve remarked._

_Bucky gave Steve a withering look. “Steve, you’ll be missing out. There’s gonna be a ton of people. From all over the world! And Mark said there’s robots. Real goddamn robots, Stevie!”_

_“Well, Mark would know.” Steve looked back down at his sketchbook and pretended to be focused on it._

_“Steve. You can’t be serious.” Steve tried not to look up at him, he really did, but he was weak and not just in body. Bucky towered over him, all of 22 years old and devilishly handsome. His hair was too long; the winter had been seasonably warm and they didn’t have to struggle too hard through it, but personal grooming was still on the bottom of their list of things to spend money on. Bucky smiled at him and that was it._

_Steve rolled his eyes and pretended he was still struggling with the decision to go, but Bucky knew he’d won and he clapped Steve hard on the back when he got up to change._

_“Just know that I won’t enjoy myself,” Steve muttered darkly. Bucky just laughed._

  


* * *

  


_It wasn’t that the Fair didn’t seem like a good time. It did. It was the people Steve was really hesitant about. He tried to convince himself that it had less to do with his self-esteem and feelings of worthlessness and more to do with himself when compared to Bucky who was so respectably handsome it’d make the prettiest dame look homely._

_He couldn’t help thinking that people were wondering what a fella like Bucky was doing stuck to the side of a sickly kid like Steve. It never bothered Bucky. Or if it did, he was reticent._

_But sometimes Steve could ignore people’s stares. The World’s Fair was one of those times because it_ was _truly amazing._

_It was the third day of the Fair because Bucky had been working the first two days and Steve had his painting class anyway. But it was still just as spectacular, just as innovative as their staticy apartment radio made it out to be._

_The first thing Bucky did was find a television. A group of forty or more people were crowded around it. A man at the front was proclaiming loudly that it was a trick, that it couldn’t be real which just got Steve even more excited to see._

_Bucky pushed to the front, one hand firmly on Steve’s arm and he couldn’t believe it. Albert Einstein – Steve had seen pictures, but never moving like this on a screen so impossibly small – was talking about cosmic rays. A sign behind it said that televisions would be available to the public in the coming year._

_“Can you imagine owning one?” Bucky asked, putting his arm around Steve’s shoulder._

_Steve snorted. “All we gotta do is rob a few banks,” he replied._

_Bucky rolled his eyes and tightened his arm around Steve’s neck so he could muss his hair._

_Steve frowned and pushed it back down haughtily. Bucky laughed. “C’mon,” Bucky said. “Let’s go find us a robot.”_

  


* * *

  


_The Fair was a happy reprieve from the constant stress of the late decade. The threat of war was a constant pressure, felt keenly by Steve whose father had fought in the first World War and whose later death caused a very specific set of ideals to be imbued in Steve. He wanted to help, wanted to serve his country. He knew, of course, that his physical ailments would keep him from doing so, which is why he was grateful the war had not come home. At least not yet._

_More than the World’s Fair, Steve liked watching Bucky. He’d always been a lover of science fiction, eating up S. Fowler Wright’s prolific works like it was nothing and all the technology around them made Bucky’s eyes brighter than Steve had seen them in a long time._

_The way he dragged Steve around like a kid in a candy store, it made Steve want to grab him by the lapels and kiss him right there. But not even Steve had a death wish that bad. Instead, he settled for staring at Bucky like the sun itself revolved around him._

_Bucky convinced Steve to wait in a long line so they could sit in a row of chairs on a conveyor belt that brought them over Futurama – a city of the future by GM. Steve had to admit that it was extraordinary, the tiny cars and roadways and shops. He wanted to draw it all, but Bucky had refused to let him take his sketchbook._

_When it was getting late and they’d eaten enough cotton candy to make themselves sick, Bucky conceded that they should head home. But as they made their way to the exit, something caught Bucky’s eye and Steve was dragged sharply to the right, trying to keep up with Bucky’s long strides._

_“What the hell, Buck?” Steve asked._

_“C’mon!” Bucky replied eagerly and didn’t stop until they reached a section of the Fair that was less crowded. Bucky finally let go of Steve who straightened out his shirt as best he could after being manhandled by Bucky._

_Steve looked up and saw Bucky’s eyes were bright and eager. Just behind him was a booth._

_“Oh, Buck, no.”_

_Bucky laughed and it took everything in Steve not to crack a smile._

_“It’s only a penny-“_

_“You already spent way too much on candy-“_

_“Steeeeeeve.” Bucky widened his eyes and his lower lip jut out. Steve was decidedly better at the puppy-dog face, but Bucky was a close contender._

_Steve let out an annoyed sigh and Bucky punched the air triumphantly. He grabbed Steve by the nape of the neck and led him toward the booth. Two people walked past – a couple – looking at a string of photos in the woman’s hand._

_“It’s amazing!” the woman remarked._

_“Boy, I look smarter in color,” the man added with a laugh. They walked away and Steve followed Bucky into the photo booth._

_“These are color?” Steve asked, pushing in beside Bucky. It was a tight fit._

_“Sure is. Wouldn’t be here otherwise, would it? A plain photo booth at a World’s Fair?” Bucky pushed the penny into the slot. He put his arm around Steve and pulled him close. “Now, smile!” A flash surprised Steve, making him see white and green blotches._

_Bucky laughed, looking over at Steve. “That’s not a smile, this is a smile!” Before Steve could protest, Bucky slipped a finger into either side of Steve’s mouth and pulled his lips back. The camera flashed again and Steve pushed Bucky hard on the chest. Bucky was laughing loudly._

_“Punk!” Steve yelled, but he couldn’t help laughing. Then, Bucky’s eyes, bright with laughter, softened. He leaned forward, a hand placed lightly under Steve’s jaw, his thumb on his cheek, and he kissed him right on the mouth._

_Steve’s eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into the kiss greedily. Bucky tasted sweet, like candy, and it was a step up from his usual taste of stale smoke and peanut butter._

_There was a flash and Steve pulled back abruptly, hand still resting on Bucky’s chest. Bucky looked dopey, eyes half closed and a serene little smile on his face._

_“Bucky!” Steve snapped, feeling his face grow red. “Someone will see!”_

_Bucky just smiled wide at him. “Well, then, we’d better put on a good show!” Bucky leaned in again, eyes closed and lips puckered comically._

_Steve went beet red, keeping Bucky at bay with one hand but not capable of keeping himself from laughing. Another flash. Then the machine beeped and Steve pushed Bucky hard until they both stumbled out of the booth. Bucky, still laughing too hard to focus, was pushed aside by Steve who ran to the dispenser and waited anxiously for the photos to come out._

_“Quit worryin’, Stevie,” Bucky said, mussing his hair again._

_An eternity later, the photos popped out, and Steve grabbed them. Before he could even look, Bucky snatched them away, holding them high above his head so Steve couldn’t reach them._

_“You look good in color, Steve,” Bucky said. “You’re good and red in the last- OOF!” Steve sucker punched Bucky in the ribs so he doubled over and Steve snatched the photos back._

_“Jerk,” Bucky managed weakly, grabbing his side. “You’ve killed me!”_

_Steve rolled his eyes and walked toward the exit, quickly pocketing the photos without even looking. “Walk it off, Barnes!” Steve called behind him._

_“Too cruel, Rogers,” Bucky replied, jogging to meet Steve._

  


* * *

  


Steve turns to Bucky, making sure his movements aren’t too quick or jerky. The change in Bucky’s appearance is extreme. He’s wearing the new clothes Tony and Bruce had packed him – a pair of cotton slacks and a navy blue shirt. His jacket is thick wool and corduroy. He’s shaved and the smoothness of his face is offset by the gauntness of his cheeks. His hair is tied back in a messy bun and he has on the same black baseball cap. His eyes look just as dark, just as panicked and searching, but it’s certainly a step in the right direction.

“Bucky,” Steve says softly.

“I remember the World’s Fair,” Bucky repeats, looking past Steve. He says it like it’s rehearsed, or not really him saying it. His brow is furrowed in concentration or frustration, Steve isn’t sure which.

“The World’s Fair? Yeah, we went. 1939 and there was-“

“Don’t!” Bucky snaps angrily, his eyes boring into Steve’s. “Don’t… tell me.” He seems to struggle with the words, so Steve shuts up.

“I’m not… I have to know if… You are…” Bucky makes an angry noise in the back of his throat and his fists tighten at his sides.

“Hey, hey, it’s all right,” Steve says, and he has to stop himself from reaching out to comfort him.

A school group enters just behind Steve. It looks like at least 30 middle schoolers being loud and obnoxious and Steve can see the panic flare in Bucky’s eyes.

“Hey, let’s go outside,” Steve says quickly.

Bucky shakes his head weakly and takes a step back.

“Bucky, wait,” Steve says, putting out a hand. Bucky recoils from it, but he doesn’t leave, just watches Steve carefully.

“You need to know something,” Steve says. “Your arm. It’s… It’s not going to work for long. There’s a battery. And maybe you know this already, I don’t know. But we have to get you somewhere where they can help you-“

“I don’t need-“

“Yes, you do!” Steve shouts and it draws the attention of nearly every person in the spacious hall. Steve lowers his head and in a quieter voice continues, “If you keep going like this, you’re going to die. If not from exposure or malnutrition, then your arm.”

“So?”

The word cuts like a knife somewhere deep in Steve’s chest cavity, a pang that leaves him speechless for too long.

“Because…,” Steve says desperately. “Because I care about you and if you died… If I lost you again? I’d…” Steve looks at Bucky with the most imploring look he can muster, begging him to _please, please just listen_. 

Bucky gives him a hard, calculating look full of distrust and antagonistic resentment before he turns and leaves. It takes every ounce of self-control Steve has not to go running after him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm on [tumblah](http://castiowl.tumblr.com)


	10. Chapter 10

Bucky doesn’t return to the museum. But he still comes to the café every morning for a week and Steve is happy to note a change in his physicality if not his demeanor. Steve isn’t sure what Bruce and Tony stuck in the bag as far as food went, but whatever it is, it’s helping and Steve is grateful for that much.

Steve tries to bring up Bucky’s arm again several times, each attempt ending with an abrupt departure or a self-deprecating reply.

Bucky’s running out of time, that’s all Steve knows at this point and there’s not a whole lot keeping him from calling the team in to knock him out and drag him to the Tower to get his arm fixed. Honestly, Steve’s sure if he asked Tony, he could come up with a fast-acting anesthetic and not even have to worry about Bucky fighting back.

But to Steve, Bucky’s trust is equally as important as his health. And maybe that’s selfish that Steve doesn’t want Bucky back unless it’s under the pretense of him not hating and resenting Steve, but he can’t bring himself to change.

And Steve is making progress on the trust front. Bucky stays with Steve longer every time, doesn’t stick his nose up at coffee, and he even once thanks Cathy. It’s barely audible, a muttered “thanks” as she places his cup in front of him. Bucky doesn’t even seem to notice he’s done it, continuing to stare down at the table while Steve and Cathy exchange a look.

It’s on the seventh day that Steve finally learns what Bucky has been eating. He looks worn, more so than the previous days which seem great compared to his now stubbly cheeks and wiry hair falling around his face. When Cathy comes back with their coffees, she hesitates before she leaves. Her face pinches in concern and she turns to Bucky to ask, “Hey, my mama said she didn’t see you yesterday. You were missed.”

Bucky tenses, his knuckles white on the edge of the table as he stares straight ahead, somewhere past Steve’s shoulder. 

“Well, let me know if you need anything,” Cathy says softly. Steve gives her a small smile before she goes.

Bucky leaves on his own volition every time. Steve would be happy sitting there all day at the café not talking, acting as the receptor for Bucky’s petulant glares, but that’s never the case. At some point or another, whether prompted or not, Bucky just gets up and leaves. 

This time, Steve makes sure to wait until Cathy comes back so he can ask, “Bucky’s been going to the soup kitchen?”

Cathy raises her eyebrows. “Yes! I thought you knew…”

Steve shakes his head.

“Sorry. I would’ve told you. He came back again that second day he was here and I gave him a brochure for the place. I just thought-“

Steve raises a hand to stop her. “It’s fine. I’m just glad he’s getting help, even if it’s not from me.”

  


* * *

  


With the soup kitchen news comes a newfound hope in Steve’s mind. So Bucky may not take help from Steve, but at least he’s not beyond accepting help from others. How Steve is going to transfer this new information into something to work with is a problem, though. He decides to focus on getting as much information to Bucky as possible.

The next week, Steve starts with the facts. He tells Bucky about his arm, reciting what Tony told him about it that night in the lab, along with some new tidbits Tony has discovered. If Bucky listens, it’s anybody’s guess, because he looks entirely disinterested in the whole subject. So Steve instead moves on to possible solutions to what he’s dubbed the “Arm Problem”.

“With the battery dying, of course the obvious choice would be to replace-,“ Steve starts.

“No.” Bucky glares at Steve’s forehead. His ability to maintain eye contact fluctuates; today he hasn’t met Steve’s eyes once.

“All right, then we could remove the battery and Tony could make it less functional but the same-“

“No.”

“Or we could remove the whole thing altogether and-“

“NO!” With a grinding noise like metal on metal, the edge of the table bends and snaps in Bucky’s left-hand grip. He looks at it like he has no idea how it happened and then stands up.

“Bucky, wait,” Steve says desperately. But Bucky is already gone.

  


* * *

  


Steve has full intentions of continuing the one-sided conversation the next day, but for the first time, Bucky doesn’t show up. Steve tries not to panic. And when he comes bursting into Sam’s room, out of breath from running straight from the café, asking Sam if he thinks Bucky is dead, Sam is the first to remind him that yesterday was the first time Bucky had a real, physical reaction to something Steve said. No doubt Bucky is just ruminating over what Steve told him.

Steve is almost convinced, and by the end of his evening walk, he’s calmed down enough to get at least a few hours of sleep.

The next morning is warmer than usual for a New York December, and what could’ve been snow any other year is now rain coming down in sheets. 

That day, Steve blames the weather for Bucky’s continued absence.

It rains all day.

It continues to rain on and off throughout the night and Steve tries to convince himself it’s the noise of the raindrops hitting the window by his bed that keeps him awake. He’s well aware Jarvis is capable of blocking out the noise with just a word from Steve, but then what will he blame his festering anxiety on?

The next morning is colder and the rain has turned to snow that covers the already damp streets with a layer of slushy ice. Steve leaves footprints as he runs through the park, the only person in the city, it seems, still willing to run this early in the morning when it’s dark as all night and snowing too. 

His heart rate picks up when he reaches the café but Bucky is nowhere in sight. He waits for three hours, busying himself by swiping snow off his thin running jacket whenever it piles too high or staring at individual snowflakes and wondering if he could draw them.

He heads back to the Tower when Cathy asks for the tenth time if he’s sure he doesn’t need anything else. (She also informs him that no, her mama hasn’t seen Bucky around, sorry.) 

He’s fifty yards from the Tower when he sees it: a body, hunched over, bare arms wrapped around a torso, shivering and-

“Jesus Christ. Bucky?” Steve bolts forward, skidding to a slippery stop in front of the man. “Bucky, look at me,” Steve says, kneeling down and feeling the wet snow through his pants. He pushes the hair back from Bucky’s face and takes his face in his hands. Bucky’s face has passed blustery red and is now tinted pale blue. 

His eyes struggle to open. “Steve?”

“Yeah. Hey, I’m here. Let’s get you inside.”

Bucky’s eyes close again and Steve swallows hard. He places two fingers against the vein in Bucky’s neck. His pulse is there, but just barely.

Steve repositions himself and tugs on Bucky, but the metal arm falls heavily to the side with a clang and a scrape against the sidewalk. It takes all of Steve’s strength to get Bucky standing, then it’s a slow journey to the Tower.

“Jarvis!” Steve calls as soon as they’re in the building.

“A room is being made ready on the 15th floor as we speak, sir,” Jarvis says.

“No, we don’t have time. I think it’s his arm. It’s not… It’s not working. I don’t know-“

The elevator doors open and four people in medical jackets followed by Bruce enter the lobby pulling a stretcher between them.

“Bruce?” Steve says. “Help him?”

Steve helps the four meds get Bucky on the stretcher. They wheel him back toward the elevator and Bruce takes something from his pocket – a needle – and sticks it in Bucky’s flesh-and-blood arm. He caps the needle as the stretcher keeps rolling and meets Steve as they head to the elevator.

“I have to go with him,” Steve says, watching the elevator doors shut as soon as everyone’s in.

“We’ll take the next one, Steve,” Bruce says and he leads Steve to the door to wait. “Tony’s already upstairs. We figured this would happen sooner or later so we’ve got something of a plan.”

“You do?” Steve feels the tight grip of panic loosen in his chest just a fraction. 

Bruce nods. “We’ve got a doctor here. Tony’s vetted her, Pepper’s vetted her twice, Maria probably six dozen times. She’s clean. No Hydra affiliations at all, which is what we need to worry about. There’s no telling what they’d do if they found him again.”

“What’s the plan?” Steve asks, running a hand through his hair.

“First and foremost, get him stabilized.” The elevator doors open again and they get on. It moves up. 

“Where are we going? I thought the lab-?” Steve asks.

“We’ve got a room specifically for him on the 15th floor,” Bruce replies easily. “All the medical equipment we need with the added bonus of not looking like a lab. Given his history with scientific experimentation, we thought it best he wakes up in a place that isn’t going to trigger any negative reactions. Also, there are no windows.”

Steve lets Bruce lead the way once the doors open and they go down a hall to a door on the left. The medical team is there along with a woman Steve doesn’t recognize wearing civilian clothes and pressing a stethoscope against Bucky’s now-bare chest.

Bucky is lying in a hospital bed with an IV in his right arm. A machine to the left is beeping slowly but rhythmically. There’s already more color in his cheeks and Steve lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“’Scuse me, Captain,” Tony says from behind Steve and pushes his way past to hand the woman a tablet. “What’s the prognosis, Doc?” Tony asks cheerily.

She takes the tablet from Tony and flips through something before handing it back. “You know my opinion,” she says. “But that hardly matters. Without the patient’s express permission, I don’t feel comfortable-“

“What are you doing?” Steve asks, stepping further into the room and dropping a protective hand on the railing at the foot of Bucky’s bed. 

The woman – the doctor – levels Steve with a look. “Assuming there is no next of kin,” she tells him, “I’m willing to agree with whatever decision you make as legal executor.”

“I-“ Steve hesitates. “What’s your professional opinion?”

There’s a ghost of smile on her lips before she replies, “Removal of the arm entirely. Mr. Stark says he has a few prototypes to replace it. Not a true prosthetic, but it won’t function nearly as well as the one he has now and there’s considerable risk in the procedure, of course, but I think it’s the best option.”

“And the others?” Steve asks.

“I could cauterize the veins and arteries attached to the arm. This would render the arm completely useless. At that point there’d be no reason for the arm to remain, but again, it’s up to you. Otherwise, you could have the battery replaced. That wouldn’t involve me at all, except if his vitals were to drop.”

Steve clenches his jaw and tries to remember when he’d given Bucky these very same options. Bucky had said no to all of them, but he’d reacted especially poorly to the suggestion of removing the arm entirely. So that’s off the table, despite what the doctor wants.

“Tony, do you have a replacement for the arm? Something that would work… the same? But wouldn’t require a battery?” Steve asks.

Tony stares at Steve for a moment, looking surprised by the question. “Not yet, but I could come up with something.”

“Do it. In the meantime, replace the battery in his arm. Whatever to keep him from- To keep the arm from dying,” Steve says, staring at Bucky’s thin figure on the bed.

The doctor doesn’t look pleased with the decision, but she doesn’t protest, instead stepping back to let Tony in closer to look at the arm.

“This is incredible,” Steve can hear Tony mumble. “Really, it’s brilliant. I want to put it in a big, glass box on a shelf,” he continues, louder now.

“Stark,” Steve warns.

“Right,” Tony says, straightening up to look at Steve. “I’ll get my best guys on it right away.”

  


* * *

  


Tony’s best guys are, of course, him, Jarvis, and Dum-E. Tony kicks out everyone he deems “in the way”, which includes Steve and the rest of the people who’d helped Bucky up to the room (PAs, Steve learns later) but not Bruce or the doctor.

They’re in the room all day. Sam stops by as soon as he hears what’s happened and sits with Steve in the hallway, saying nothing and occasionally getting up to get coffee or snacks. All that can be heard through the door is the occasional muted drilling and mechanical sounds. It drives Steve up the wall not knowing what’s going on in there.

When it hits 1:30, Sam excuses himself for the VA meeting, but tells Steve to call him if anything happens.

Steve’s bladder finally forces him up and into the bathroom down the hall. He washes his face with cold water and then continues his vigil.

Sam returns with burgers from their favorite diner and Steve thanks him, but doesn’t have the stomach for food. He can hear voices every once in awhile now and the noise has stopped. He’s asked Jarvis a couple times what’s going on inside, but the replies are always clipped and precise and lacking in real information. 

Steve leans his head back and closes his eyes.

A loud bang makes Steve jump to attention and he’s on his feet in a moment, the blood rushing to his head making him dizzy for a moment. Sam’s slower to react, and he and Steve exchange a look in the silence that follows. Steve tries the handle on the door, but it’s locked.

Then, voices sound from the other side. Tony’s voice sounds strained and Steve hears him say, “Bruce, you gotta get outta here.”

“Jarvis, open the door,” Steve says. He’s sure the AI will ignore him, but then he feels the handle click and he swings it open. Bruce and the doctor push past Steve and he lets them go, taking in the scene before him.

Bucky is standing on the bed, back pressed against the wall, looking like a feral animal with his hair hanging in front of his face and baring his teeth at Tony. His right arm is in a sling but his left is free and clenched tightly in a fist.

Tony glances over at Steve quickly. “Look, we’re all friends here,” Tony says and places a metal instrument he’s holding on the medical table by the bed carefully. “So I’m just gonna step out and let Cap take over, all right?”

Tony takes a tentative step toward the door. Bucky lunges at him, but Steve is faster. He grabs Bucky by the neck and throws him up against the wall next to the bed. “Get out!” Steve yells at Tony and he does so without an argument, shutting the door behind him.

“Bucky,” Steve says, loosening his grip on his throat. “It’s me. It’s Steve. Look at me. Hey.”

Bucky’s eyes roam nonsensically until they land on Steve’s.

“Yeah, there ya go. You recognize me?” Steve asks, keeping his voice even and calm despite the adrenaline pulsing through him.

Bucky huffs out a few heavy breaths but his shoulders relax. Steve lets go of his neck and steps back. 

“Do you remember how you got here?” Steve asks.

Bucky’s jaw tightens and he shakes his head.

“You were outside the building freezing to death when I found you. You’re on the 15th floor of Stark Tower in New York City. It’s December 19th. 8:00 at night.”

Bucky presses himself against the wall and looks down at his left arm. “What did they do?” he asks quietly.

“Nothing, Bucky. I swear. They replaced the battery. I know you didn’t want it gone, so I- I didn’t let them. Is it- Does it feel okay?”

Bucky swallows, clenches and unclenches his metal fist a few times, and nods.

Steve relaxes a little and lets himself just look at Bucky. It’s the first time he’s seen the entire arm and it is a thing of beauty from an aesthetic standpoint. All perfect lines and shiny plating that must have mirrored his right arm when he’d been in shape. Now it hangs from his slim frame unnaturally. 

But it’s the scarring that draws Steve’s attention. The waxy, puckered, red flesh of Bucky’s left shoulder is ugly and painful looking. Steve wants to kiss every inch of it in apology because he knows it’s his fault. 

He sees it almost every night in his dreams: Bucky falls and Steve is too stupid, too fucking selfish to believe that Bucky could’ve survived the fall so he doesn’t look for his best friend. And Hydra wins. For 70 years they win while Steve just…

Bucky’s eyes close slowly as he leans against the wall. And then he pitches forward and Steve barely catches him before he hits the ground.

“Hell,” Steve mutters, hefting Bucky’s body upright so he can lean him against the wall. “Jarvis?” Steve yells.

The doctor enters the room in a hurry and pushes Steve aside as she sets the stethoscope against Bucky’s chest, his sternum, his lower abdomen. Then she takes out a light and flashes it in his eyes. She leans back on her heels and looks at Steve. “He’s just passed out. Not a concussion. We should get him hooked up to the IV, though. He’s severely dehydrated and probably exhausted. My _professional opinion_ is that we sedate him until his vitals are better.” She gives Steve a pointed look. 

Steve hesitates. “Fine,” he concedes. “But I want to be here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I got into a car accident and totaled my car and I'm TOTALLY FINE but not sure how focused I'm gonna be on writing this week. I've only got half of the next chapter written. Probably less than that.
> 
> But I was also called for jury duty today lmao that is my life SO i had four hours to sit and think about where i wanted this story to go. (no worries - the trial wasn't actually happening. i'm not that awful of a person.) i didn't actually decide on anything concrete, but there's something in the works!
> 
> thank you all for reading! 123 kudos, man.


	11. Chapter 11

They keep Bucky under for 48 hours. The doctor – Dr. Elizabeth Ross, Steve learns after he hears her and Bruce talking – is accommodating and helpful if a little wary of Bucky. Steve doesn’t exactly blame her.

Steve doesn’t see Tony in all that time. Jarvis informs him that he’s making progress on the replacement arm. On the second day, Tony finally reappears looking high on caffeine and little else to tell Steve he’s completed a working prototype that might actually, well, _work_. 

“It’ll be exponentially lighter. Put less strain on his shoulder which I’m sure is shot to hell at this point. There’s still a bit of force behind it, too, although I gotta say I’m not happy about giving over a sledgehammer to a neurotic-“

“Stark,” Steve warns, giving Tony a severe look.

“Whatever,” Tony says, waving his hand in the air. “It’s fixed. If the good doc gives the go-ahead, I can put it on now.”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek in thought. “No,” he decides. “I want to talk to him first. Give him the choice.”

Tony makes an exasperated noise. “Why the hell do we care what he thinks? The deathtrap he’s wearing now is gonna kill him, it’s incredibly painful-“

“He deserves to have a choice,” Steve replies simply and that shuts Tony up.

“Well,” Tony says, “call me when you’re ready, then.”

  


* * *

  


Dr. Ross strongly insists on being in the room when Bucky wakes. Steve admires her for that. It’s brave, but maybe a little stupid given Bucky’s reaction to waking up recently.

Steve sits by Bucky’s bed and watches impatiently for any movement. Finally, Bucky grunts and his eyebrows pinch together. Slowly, his eyes open and he looks around the room. His eyes land on Steve first and some expression flickers on his face for half a moment before it’s gone and Steve braces himself for a fight.

It ends up being unnecessary since Bucky’s eyes close again and he falls back asleep. Steve looks over at Dr. Ross who gets up and repositions the fluids next to his bed. Then, she turns to Steve. “His vitals are fine. He already looks healthier. I’d like to keep him on the fluids for at least another 24 hours just to be sure, but if he wants to get up he can. Just make sure he doesn’t move that right shoulder too much.” She motions to the sling. “He dislocated it pretty badly. We got it back in place while he was out, but he left it dislocated for so long it’s bound to have done some muscle damage. I’d like to get an MRI at some point. Once Tony puts on the new prosthetic, we should be able to do that. Only if he’s up to it, of course.”

Steve nods and, not for the first time, is grateful to be surrounded by so many incredibly understanding people.

“Thank you so much, Dr. Ross.”

“Betty. Please,” she says with a smile. “And I’m happy to help. When Bruce asked… Well, I know Bruce, so you can imagine I’m a little bit more experienced with this sort of thing.”

Steve raises his eyebrows at her. Is she implying she knows about the Hulk? If so, it’s news to Steve. Although that’s not unsurprising since he and Bruce haven’t exactly known each other long or had time to chat, for that matter.

“Betty,” Steve repeats. “Thank you.”

  


* * *

  


Steve should learn not to count his blessings. He’d been so happily surprised at Bucky’s non-reaction to waking up the first time, he isn’t exactly prepared for the second time when Bucky’s eyes snap open and he’s braced on the wall ready to fight in a matter of seconds.

“Shit!” Steve breathes and stands up. He puts his hands out in what he hopes is a placating manner. “Bucky? You’re okay. You’re safe.”

“Chto vy so mnoy sdelali?”

Russian. If Steve never hears Russian again, it’ll be too soon.

There’s a familiar beep in Steve’s right ear that tells him his communication device has just turned on.

“Steve?” It’s Natasha and Steve lets out a breath. 

“Can you translate?” Steve asks.

“Yeah. He asked ‘What did you do to me?’”

Steve turns back to Bucky and sees the man slump slightly against the wall, head falling down. His shoulders shake and Steve realizes he’s crying. No, he’s _sobbing_. Bucky heaves a breath, chokes out a cry and slides down the wall until he’s sitting with his knees against his chest. 

Bucky mumbles something and Steve steps closer. “Natasha, did you catch that?” Steve asks.

“No. Can you get closer?”

Steve does, carefully so as not to spook him. When he’s a couple feet away, he crouches and says, “Bucky. It’s okay.”

“Pozhaluysta, ne prisylayte mne. Pozhaluysta, ne prisylayte mne. Pozhaluysta.”

“Please,” Natasha’s voice says softly in Steve’s ear. “Don’t send me back.”

“Send you back?” Steve repeats to Bucky. “Send you where? Bucky, you’re safe. We’re not gonna send you anywhere.”

Bucky looks up at Steve. His eyes are rimmed with red and he looks downright terrified at what he sees. “Oh god, Steve,” he says and Steve’s heart leaps into his throat. Bucky’s left arm reaches out and Steve moves forward so he’s kneeling in front of Bucky. Bucky’s metal hand touches Steve’s shoulder and Steve lets Bucky grab the fabric of his shirt to lightly tug him closer.

“Fuck, Steve, is that you?” Bucky whimpers, his eyes flitting between Steve’s eyes as if he doesn’t quite believe it.

“Yeah, pal, it’s me,” Steve replies.

Bucky pulls him even closer until their foreheads are touching and still Bucky doesn’t look away, afraid perhaps that Steve will disappear the moment he closes his eyes.

“Steve, I’m so sorry,” Bucky says and Steve can’t believe it, can’t let himself believe that this is really Bucky. _His_ Bucky. 

“No, Buck, don’t apologize,” Steve says. His voice cracks and he realizes he’s crying, too. He puts his hands on either side of Bucky’s face and pushes back his hair from his face. 

But Bucky continues to say, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” over and over until his words run together and it’s barely audible. His eyes finally close and he grows quiet. His breathing evens out and Steve pulls back. 

“We should get you back in bed,” Steve says quietly.

“No.” The reply sends a chill down Steve’s spine.

“Bucky-“

“Get out.” Bucky glances up and his stare is cold, inhuman. It makes Steve want to cry again for all the wrong reasons.

“Bucky!” Steve pleads.

“OUT!” Bucky shouts and lunges at Steve, just barely missing as Steve dodges to the side. He scrambles up and evades another fist to the face by mere inches. 

“Stop!” Steve yells, backing up to the door.

“Get _out_ ,” Bucky hisses, his words like venom. 

Steve can’t argue, can’t defend himself, so he leaves. 

“Dammit!” Steve curses loudly, kicking fruitlessly at the wall.

“Steve…” Natasha’s voice sounds in Steve’s ear and he hates that she’s there, that she was listening, that she saw how close he’d come to getting his life back.

He yanks the earpiece out and drops it on the ground in the hallway outside Bucky’s door. He knows it’s childish and altogether a useless show of anger, but he doesn’t care. He gets in the elevator and heads to his floor.

Steve isn’t surprised when there’s a soft knock on his bedroom door. He is surprised, however, when he says “come in” and Betty walks through.

“Doctor,” he says, standing up.

She holds out her hand, motioning for him to sit back down at his desk where he’d been sulking before. “Betty,” she corrects. “Please. We’re friends. Well, friends by association. I wanted to talk to you about Barnes.”

Steve sighs and sits, running a hand through his hair. “He’s in there. I didn’t let myself believe it, but now I…”

“It’s difficult, I know. Trust me.” She gives him a pointed look and he thinks maybe she’s the only one who can say that and mean it. “I can’t imagine what he’s been through, what it must’ve been like. And I’m not going to stand here and pretend like I know anything beyond the very basics of psychological trauma; it’s not exactly my specialty. But I’ve spoken with Sam and Bruce and we think we’ve come up with something – a diagnosis of sorts – that will help in determining what steps we need to take in order to help him.”

Steve nods slowly and takes a deep breath. “Okay,” he says. “Yeah. Let’s, um. I need a drink.” He stands and motions for Betty to leave the room before him. He heads into the kitchen and gets a glass of water. He then joins Betty who’s already moved to the living room and taken a seat in the armchair. Steve sits on the couch and places his glass on the coffee table.

“I suppose I should start at the beginning,” Betty says, crossing her legs. “I think this will go better if you know where I’m coming from. Our first meeting wasn’t exactly typical, so I’ll introduce myself. I’m Betty Ross. I have a PhD in biochemical engineering as well as a medical degree. I met Bruce nearly 20 years ago when we were both in the biochem department at university. When we graduated, we both became instructors at Culver University. I was working on my med degree while Bruce was working on specializing in gamma radiation. Nine years ago, my father was the General of the U.S. Army and he asked that Bruce and I work on a classified project for the military. It was called the Bio-Tech Force Enhancement Project. We were told it was research for soldiers exposed to high levels of radiation overseas.

“But it was a lie. And it cost Bruce everything. Our work helped produce a mutated version of the super-soldier serum. Something you’re familiar with, of course.”

Steve swallows. He has a feeling that he’s about to find out how the Hulk came to be. And that he and Bruce might have more in common than he thinks.

“Bruce was so confident in our work that he- Well, he tried it on himself,” Betty continues.

“Why would he do that?” Steve asks, incredulous. That level of self-worth is typical of Tony, maybe, but Bruce? 

“He was different before,” Betty says with a sigh. “Confident and egotistical, even.” She smiles fondly. “But he was a brilliant man. We thought at the time that what we were testing was a biochemical protective vaccine – something that would boost the immune system to counteract the effects of radiation poisoning. We didn’t know it’d been coupled with the super-soldier vaccine. The combination was… Well, you’ve met the Hulk.”

“Yes,” Steve says. 

“The first time he changed, it was… awful. He destroyed the lab. And he… It hurt me. And afterward, Bruce couldn’t forgive himself. Even though it wasn’t him, it wasn’t even his fault – he couldn’t forgive what he’d done to me. He ran. He still hasn’t told me most of what happened after that. I know he was in South America for awhile, and maybe Canada? He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Betty pushes her dark hair behind one ear and smiles sadly. “He was in hiding for a long time. Up until you met him, in fact. It hasn’t been easy. I think after the New York incident, he’s begun to accept himself – both parts. After so long, that’s a lot to ask for. And I’m grateful.

“When Tony called me, I was obviously overjoyed. I had seen Bruce on the news, so I knew he was back. But he hadn’t contacted me. I assumed it was because he still felt guilty. I barely had a day to talk to him and I was right. The idiot is still under the impression that I hate him for what he did.” She laughs and shakes her head. “But I’m not going anywhere. Not now.”

“You’re brave,” Steve notes. 

“Not brave,” Betty corrects. “Just human.” She shrugs. “There’s a lot you’ll do to be with the person you love, even when they push you away, even when they’re not the same person you fell in love with in the first place.”

Steve finds himself blushing and he looks down at his lap, feeling like a child who’s been caught doing something bad.

“Which brings me to my main point: Mr. Barnes. We’re working with several assumptions, the biggest of which is that he’s been given some form of the super-soldier serum. It’s the only way he could’ve survived the fall. The second is that he has a dissociative disorder. I hesitate to label it as a dissociative _identity_ disorder, but he does show signs of distinct identities that have different memories and certainly different emotional and psychological temperaments. 

“It’s safe to say we know about two of them. One is the man you used to talk with at the café. I think – and Sam agrees – this is sort of the amalgam of the man you knew growing up and the Soldier that Hydra created. Is it true he told you he remembered something?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. He found me at the Met and told me – he said he remembered the World’s Fair. That was 1939. We were in our 20s and we went together.”

Betty nods. “That’s good. That means he’s got access, at least in part, to his long-term memories.”

“You’ve also met the Soldier,” Betty continues. “Hydra’s attempt at brainwashing. And I say _attempt_ because the fact that Barnes has these other identities is proof that they were unsuccessful. But they did do some serious damage, that much is clear.

“I was sure up until about ten minutes ago that those were only identities we were dealing with. But now I think we’ve met Bucky.”

Steve nods and grips the couch tightly. 

“Did Bucky know Russian before he was captured by Hydra?” Betty asks, her voice soft.

Steve swallows and thinks back. “Yes,” he replies. “Not much, but he was always good at languages. He caught on so fast and – yeah, Russian. He knew enough.”

Betty nods a few times. “Then it’s possible that was Bucky as well. If he’s stuck in that memory – the memory of being first captured and most likely tortured by Hydra – his actions make sense. None of this is an exact science, of course, but it’s a starting point.”

“So how do we help him?” Steve asks.

“Our ultimate goal is to ground him in reality. That’s going to take time and we have to be prepared for the possibility that he might never be whole again. But that’s pessimistic. Optimistically, he comes to terms with what Hydra forced him to do, accepts that although terrible things were done they were not done by _him_ , and is able to live a comfortable life with that knowledge.”

Betty leans forward and smiles softly at Steve. “You are going to play a huge role in his recovery,” she says. “You made up a huge part of his past and that’s invaluable. And I’m also confident that talk therapy can help. 

“Right now we’re going to be focused on his physical health and making sure he’s comfortable before we even think about anything else. Building his trust is paramount to his accepting our help. I’m hopeful that once he’s settled in one place where he knows he’s safe, he’ll be able to stay in the now long enough to talk. And I think you should be the one he talks to.”

“I’m… I’m not sure,” Steve says. “I’m not sure what to say or do. Sam is-“

“Sam is trained,” Betty says. “But he doesn’t know Bucky. _You do_. Sam can help. He’ll teach you what to say, what not to say. Barnes has severe PTSD and we have to make sure we don’t trigger that and send him backwards.”

“There were pictures,” Steve says. “Let me…” He gets up, goes to his room, and returns with the Winter Soldier file. He sits down again and pages through until he reaches a series of pictures. He hands them to Betty one-by-one and she takes them.

“There was this… chair. This thing they used on him. I don’t know what it did. This file is in Russian. Natasha has read it. You could ask her-“

“She’s already told me,” Betty says, distractedly looking through the photos. “And I’ve seen these photos before. I’m still not sure exactly what it was used for. The file doesn’t say anything about them. We could ask Barnes once he’s up to it. Won’t be for awhile, though.” She hands the photos back to Steve.

“Do you… Do you know what they did to him?” Steve asks, tucking the photos into the file and closing it so he doesn’t have to look at Betty, doesn’t have to show her how scared he is of the answer.

“Some,” she answers carefully. “I could tell you, if you want. It may help you understand where he’s coming from.”

Steve nods. “Yeah. You’re right.” 

Betty sighs and leans back in the chair again. “I don’t know everything, obviously. It’s most likely, given the era he was captured, that the primary method of what’s called ‘brainwashing’ was just cognitive conditioning. Severe physical torture, probably emotional too. It’s hard to say. They worked him until he was broken. Then they built him back up. Tortured him for doing something they didn’t like and giving him the very basics to live if he did something right. A person will do just about anything to survive, even if it means becoming someone they no longer recognize.

“The chair in those photos – it’s nearly impossible to tell you what it was for without it standing right in front of me. Or at least photos that aren’t from the 60s.”

“There is one,” Steve says eagerly. “A chair. In Maine. Could we get it?”

Betty nods. “Yeah. Jarvis, let Tony know. We’ll have someone go out as soon as possible and get it.”

“Of course, madam,” Jarvis replies.

“That’s great,” Betty says, sounding almost excited. “That chair – whatever it was, I’m guessing it had something to with the brain. Once I know exactly what, we can really start figuring out just how badly these dicks messed him up.”

Steve smiles slightly. “Thanks, Betty.”

“You’re more than welcome,” she replies. “If Bruce had had this sort of support system? Well… he has it now, I guess. Better late than never. But Bucky is incredibly lucky.”

Steve nods and the room grows quiet. Then, Steve remembers something. “The arm,” he says, looking back at Betty. “I meant to ask him about it, but that obviously didn’t happen. I want him to have the choice.”

“I’ll make sure he gets that choice,” Betty promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love that Betty. 
> 
> Lots of psych talk. I just wanted to get it out of the way in one go so we can focus on... other things. Which will start happening VERY SOON.


	12. Chapter 12

Bucky refuses to see Steve. He lets Betty come and go, but even mentioning Steve’s name to Bucky sends him either on a rampage or into a deep silence. Neither is conducive to improving his health, so Steve stops asking even though he itches to see him. 

A couple days later, Bucky finally consents to having his arm replaced. Steve wishes he could be there, but given Bucky’s adamant refusal to see him, he figures it’s better if he stays back.

Betty is a godsend. She keeps Steve updated with every little detail he otherwise wouldn’t care about but now he drinks it up like he needs it to survive. Betty is confident that he’s doing much better physically and they can move on to the next step sooner rather than later.

The next step used to involve Steve, but now they’ve decided to use Sam. Bucky seems to like Sam – or Bucky’s version of “like” which is more akin to “tolerate”. The first day, Sam mostly sits in silence while Bucky paces around the room, flexing his new arm. Steve listens in at first, but it feels invasive, so he stops.

Sam tries to bring up a memory – something Steve told him – and Bucky goes completely wild. Sam barely escapes in one piece. 

“Before we make any progress, we’re gonna have to find out why he doesn’t want to remember,” Sam says that night as the whole group gathers on the main floor. 

“It’s possible he thinks finding old memories might make him remember the more recent ones, too,” Betty says. She takes a seat right next to Sam on the couch. 

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says and he leans back into the couch. “Last time I tried to tell him something from our past, he freaked out. And I don’t think it had to do with fear. It was more a… stubborn rage. And he said something.” Steve tries to remember back to the museum when Bucky had mentioned the World’s Fair.

“He said something that made me believe he didn’t want any false memories. Like, he wants to remember for himself because if someone _tells him_ , that’s not the same as remembering. They could be lies,” Steve says.

“That makes sense,” Sam replies thoughtfully. “He’s bound to have trust issues when it comes to false memories. He’s afraid anything we tell him could be a lie.”

“Then we might consider just asking him what he remembers and then confirming his memories,” Betty says.

Tony comes over from the kitchen with a glass of whiskey. “That old arm is really incredible, Rogers. You should really come downstairs and look at it.” 

“It actually is pretty cool,” Natasha agrees. She’s seated cross-legged on the floor in front of Pepper who’s dealing out cards. 

“Rain check,” Steve says. He doesn’t have anything better to do, exactly, but he doesn’t think he’ll get anything out of staring at a hunk of metal. “I think I’m gonna sleep,” Steve adds, getting up. “See you guys tomorrow.”

There’s a flurry of raised hands and mumbled “nights” as Steve heads to the elevator.

  


* * *

  


_Steve can see how the shield weighs on Bucky’s arm. It’s too heavy for him. And when the shot hits the shield, Bucky goes flying right out of the exposed side of the train. The train that’s a mile in the air above snow-covered rocks and an icy river._

_Steve lunges forward, takes out the shooter, and hangs out the side of the train. Bucky is there. He’s hanging on for dear life, but he’s there. And Steve can reach him, he just has to hold out his hand._

_Bucky reaches out his hand to take Steve’s. Metal snaps and Bucky plunges, faster than Steve can reach. He’s falling. Steve watches him fall and he falls forever. Steve can’t take his eyes away. He has to watch. He has to know where he lands. He has to find him. Has to. Has to. Has to…_

_The river pulses closer. Steve is falling and the river swallows him whole. It’s not particularly cold, although he knows it should be. But it flows into his lungs, his eyes, his throat. He can’t breathe. He tries to suck in air, but the water presses in so he can barely stay conscious-_

Steve’s eyes snap open and his body jumps into fight mode, lashing out. His fist connects with something solid and there’s a grunt of pain as the person falls away, allowing Steve to catch his breath. Was he being smothered? How did Jarvis not wake him? Why is there no alarm?

Steve heaves in three huge breaths and reaches over to the lamp on his bedside table. The light hurts his eyes for a moment. Then, Steve can see just fine. And what he sees makes his heart ache.

“Bucky?” Steve says.

It is. Only, he looks so much better, so very different from the man Steve had seen just four days ago. His hair is shorn, not as short as Steve remembers from growing up or the war, but not as long as his Soldier days, either. He’s put on considerable weight and his face is no longer pale and gaunt, but colored pink. His blue eyes are so achingly familiar and wide as they stare straight at Steve. At him, not _through_ him. And he looks like he’s… pleading? As if he hadn’t just been trying to kill Steve in his sleep moments ago.

“What’s going on?” Steve asks carefully.

“I didn’t want you to scream,” Bucky says and his voice is strange. Almost wrong, but Steve can’t tell why.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods once. “We have to leave,” he says. He gets down on one knee and grabs Steve’s bag from under the bed. He tosses it to Steve and Steve catches it, surprised.

“Leave?” Steve repeats. “What’s going on?”

“It’s not safe,” Bucky says, pacing to the window and looking out.

“You- How did you get out?” Steve asks.

Bucky ignores him, instead fitting each hand – both are gloved, Steve notices – on either side of the window and pushing, testing its integrity. Bucky touches the handle and pulls the window open. He looks back at Steve.

“Coming?” he asks.

Steve hesitates. “I… Yeah. Yeah, I’m coming.” He grabs his phone off the nightstand but Bucky shakes his head.

“Don’t,” he says. “They’ll track you.”

Steve puts the phone back and studies Bucky closely. “Who are ‘they’? Who are we running from, Bucky?” 

Bucky looks nervously out the window. “We need to hurry,” he replies in lieu of an answer.

Steve sighs. He wishes he could wake the house or at least Sam, but he knows one wrong move will have Bucky punching walls and running away. At least this way he gets to tag along and make sure Bucky is okay.

“Let me get changed at least,” Steve says and hunts down a pair of clean jeans. He pulls them on over his boxer briefs, grabs an armful of clothes at random, and shoves them in his bag. He doesn’t plan on being gone for long. He’ll call the Tower as soon as he can and figure out their next step. He slings the bag over his shoulder, grabs his shield, and follows Bucky over to the window. 

There’s no fire escape, so their descent is complicated – a lot of jumping from sill to sill and catching cracks in the building hardly larger than Steve’s fingertips. They’re lucky neither of them fall and break a leg, but Steve supposes they’ve survived worse.

Bucky reaches the ground first and slips into the shadows immediately. Steve finds it oddly funny; Jarvis has cameras all around the building, even in the dark where his night vision cams can pick up just about anything.

Still, Steve plays along and hides next to Bucky until it’s ostensibly clear and they both sneak out.

Bucky breaks into a car while Steve keeps watch. It must be near three in the morning, just going by Steve’s internal clock. There’s a little traffic on the main drag once they’re both in the car and moving. Bucky drives with his right hand on the top of the wheel and eyes narrowed suspiciously at every car in sight.

Steve feels a deep sense of disappointment. He’d been so close to getting Bucky the help he needs. Granted, he looks better than he has since Steve last saw him in 1945, but that says nothing about his mental health that, judging by the fact that they’re headed out of the city under the cover of night, isn’t much improved.

Bucky isn’t surly or attacking Steve though, so that’s progress, right?

They leave the city and are headed south when a bullet shatters the front windshield, missing Steve’s head by mere inches. Bucky barely swerves, slams his foot down on the gas, and speeds down the highway. It’s not hard to do given the time and the distinct lack of traffic.

Steve ducks down in his seat and glances backward. A large, black SUV is in hot pursuit and Steve clutches at his shield protectively. Steve and Bucky’s little sedan is no match for the SUV and soon enough they’re being tailgated, front tires skidding when the SUV slams into their rear bumper going over 100 miles per hour.

“We need to get off the road!” Steve shouts over the sound of crunching, scraping metal.

Bucky looks determined and angry, but maneuvers the car to the next exit just in time, causing the SUV to slam on their breaks and spin out on the highway. Bucky picks back up on the side road, racing past gas stations and fast food restaurants. He pulls down another road, then another, and keeps turning until even Steve isn’t sure which way the highway is.

It’s a woodsy area, a dirt road somewhere when Bucky finally stops the car. He and Steve get out at the same time.

Steve slips his shield on and follows Bucky into the woods. His pace is directional and resolute; he knows where he’s going. Or if he doesn’t, he sure can fake it well. Steve follows for lack of a better option.

“Who was that?” Steve asks when they must be half a mile away from the car. “Hydra?”

Bucky grunts a reply, which Steve takes to mean “yes”. 

Bucky stops abruptly and Steve nearly runs into him. Bucky’s hand motions to the ground and they both crouch low. Steve listens hard until he finally hears raised voices not too far off.

Bucky motions again and they slowly make their way forward. A log cabin comes into view. Two armed men stand at the front talking back and forth in what Steve can only guess is Russian.

Bucky reaches behind him and pulls out a black handgun. Steve pushes back the questions bubbling to his lips, such as “how the hell did you get a gun?” and shifts his shield slightly.

Bucky stands, strides into view of the men and takes each out with a deft hand. He lowers his gun and Steve watches from the woods as Bucky puts his back against the porch and waits for the inevitable backup. It comes in the form of three more burly men carrying guns. Bucky takes out the first, dodges the second, and aims a kick at the third. The second raises his gun and fires, but he’s not aiming for Bucky. Steve dodges just a second too late and feels a sharp prick on his neck. He lands heavily against a tree trunk and his hand flies to his neck. He yanks out a needle and stares at it. Drugs? They should know better than that. Whatever is in it doesn’t cause Steve to even blink. He tosses the needle to the ground and stands to fight, but when he steps out of the woods, he sees Bucky aiming his gun at the third and final man’s head.

Bucky demands something in Russian. The man replies, then Bucky pulls the trigger. Steve flinches. It’s been so long since Steve’s seen Bucky like this. The Winter Soldier had been ruthless, sure, but Bucky also had his share of coldblooded kills. That was his specialty, after all. Steve remembers now how sick it used to make him feel.

Bucky glances back at the woods and Steve takes that as his cue to come out of hiding.

“We’ll be safe here for now,” Bucky says, pushing his gun in the back of his pants again.

“Won’t they come looking when these guys don’t report back?”

“They were leaving tonight,” Bucky replies, picking up a discarded gun and handing it to Steve.

That doesn’t really answer Steve’s question, but Bucky looks like he knows what he’s doing, so Steve’s willing to take the backseat on this one. Unfortunately, their location isn’t good for finding a phone to call the Tower with, so he’ll have to let Jarvis fill them in on that one.

The cabin is small, but comfortable. It probably belonged to a hunter at some point judging by the mounted deer heads and various antlers on the wall. There’s a main living room with a plush carpet over hardwood floors and a small bedroom. Steve is happy to see a bathroom, too, with a shower and working plumbing.

Bucky heads into the small kitchen and grabs a glass, fills it with water, and downs it. He offers one to Steve who nods and thanks him.

Steve throws his bag and shield on the couch in the living room, then turns to Bucky who is fiddling with the stolen gun. “All right, I need some answers,” Steve says.

Bucky doesn’t look up, but he says, “Then ask.”

“How did Hydra find us? And how did you escape the room? Or get a gun? Why didn’t we set off any alarms while leaving? Did Jarvis know? Do the rest of the Avengers know? Why don’t-?” Steve stops short when Bucky looks up with a slight frown and a furrowed brow.

“Sorry,” Steve says with a sigh. “I’m just trying to understand how we got here.”

Bucky puts the gun down on the kitchen counter and steps toward Steve until they’re so close, Steve can smell the gunpowder on him. Bucky’s left hand lifts slowly until it lands lightly on Steve’s shoulder and it brushes his neck.

“You were hit,” Bucky says softly, eyes dark and hooded by long, dark eyelashes.

“Needle. Whatever they put it in didn’t do a lick of damage. They clearly weren’t prepared for a couple of super soldiers, huh?” Steve huffs out a laugh, but Bucky just frowns a little deeper and traces a gloved finger over the sore, red mark on Steve’s neck.

When Bucky’s concern doesn’t lessen, Steve says, “I’m fine, Buck. Promise.” He grabs Bucky’s forearm lightly and he stops.

Bucky looks at Steve, eyes slightly unfocused. 

“Now, are you going to answer my questions or-?” Steve makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat as Bucky leans forward and presses his lips against Steve’s. Steve doesn’t move for a long moment, and then his eyes close and he opens his mouth slightly. Bucky responds greedily, biting down lightly on Steve’s bottom lip before sliding his tongue inside his mouth. Steve feels Bucky’s hands fall down his sides, tracing fingertips against the cloth of his shirt. Bucky breaks the kiss and slides his right hand up to his face to take his glove off with his mouth, his left hand a hard pressure against Steve’s side.

Bucky’s flesh-and-blood hand snakes under Steve’s shirt and _fuck, that feels nice_. Bucky kisses Steve’s mouth, then his chin, his jaw, his neck, his shoulder. Bucky’s tongue flits out and touches Steve’s neck, then Steve feels the familiar nip of teeth at the sensitive skin. Steve lets his head fall back a little, enjoying the sensation.

The hot pressure in Steve’s abdomen isn’t helped by the feel of Bucky’s warm hand on his hip. His hand tugs at the hem, pulling Steve flush against him. Steve blushes because he can feel himself half-hard against Bucky’s thigh, but it’s too good to stop.

“Bucky,” Steve breathes. He opens his eyes and sees a strangely determined look on Bucky’s face, his eyes half-lidded and brow furrowed.

“Buck, stop,” Steve says, and he puts his hands on Bucky’s chest. “Stop.”

Bucky looks Steve in the eye, but his expression doesn’t change. “You want this,” Bucky says, and it sounds more like a question than a statement, so Steve replies, “Yeah. But not here. Not like this.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches and something like annoyance flashes across his face before he’s back to emotionless. He steps back and Steve tries to calm himself. He runs a hand through his hair. Bucky watches him closely.

“Sorry,” Steve says. “I didn’t realize you remembered. About us, I mean.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “We kissed,” he says.

Steve laughs. “Yeah, we sure did.”

“No, I mean, we kissed. Before.” Bucky’s hand disappears into his jacket and he pulls out a long strip of paper. “We kissed,” he says again, holding it out to Steve.

Steve takes it and _God, he hasn’t seen these since before the war_. It’s a series of photos of him and Bucky from the World’s Fair. Sure enough, in the third photo, Bucky is kissing Steve right on the mouth. Steve remembers how upset he’d been, so afraid they’d be found out, and yet secretly being so thrilled that Bucky was willing to risk all of it for _him_ , for that skinny, sickly kid in the photo. 

“Where did you get this?” Steve asks, enraptured by the photos. The last time Steve had these, they were tacked up over their bed in Brooklyn. How they’d made it all the way into Bucky’s hands in 2014 is beyond Steve.

Bucky shrugs. “I found it,” he says.

That’s apparently the only answer he’s getting since Bucky then turns away and marches off to the bedroom. Steve stares down at the photos, tracing a fingertip against Bucky’s laughing face on the glossy paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, leaving kudos, and especially commenting. Comments make my LIFE.
> 
> Things are about to get so fuckin' weird.


	13. Chapter 13

“My servers are still rebooting and until that time, I won’t know what happened, sir.”

“What the hell do you mean _you don’t know?_ ”

“You’ve watched the videos yourself, sir, I’m not sure there’s much else I can say about the matter.”

“Sorry, but this is just not happening. I’ve had it up to here with shit not going my way. I’ve dealt with aliens and gods and been totally fine-“

“-I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Pepper, honey, that meltdown on national television was supposed to be our little secret-“

“Mm, of course, dear. My mistake.”

“As I was saying, I just want _one_ day that goes according to plan. Just one.”

The voices aren’t dim or muffled so they must be in the room, but Bucky’s headache is so blaring he fears opening his eyes will make him pass out. It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened in the past few days.

He shifts and feels the soft cotton sheets of the bed he’s not yet called his own. Nothing is _his_. He hasn’t owned anything in… Well, it’s impossible, anyway. How does property own property? 

The voices have gone and Bucky steels himself. He opens his eyes slowly. There are three people in the room, and he remembers only one of their names. Anthony Stark stands with his arms crossed, pouting at a woman with strawberry blonde hair. The other man is dark-skinned and he’s looking right at Bucky.

“Uh, guys?” the latter man says.

Anthony – they call him Tony, don’t they? – turns to look at the other man. “What?” He follows his gaze to Bucky who grunts with the effort of pushing himself up in bed. Every muscle aches in his body, but it’s a considerable improvement from where he was before when he could barely lift his head. 

“We should get Betty,” the woman says and makes for the door. Bucky doesn’t stop her. He’s learned not to fight his way out. His current plan is to win their trust so he can have some semblance of freedom to break out. These people are so naïve, it’s almost disheartening how easy it’s going to be. All he has to do is wait. And he’s always been skilled at that. 

Sitting up and looking around, he can feel a strange sort of tension in the room. “What’s happened?” he asks gruffly, pushing a hand through his hair. It’s been washed recently. He vaguely remembers being in a shower yesterday, but the hours and days blend together.

Tony and the other man exchange a glance. Tony opens his mouth to reply, but the other man cuts him off: “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Tony frowns slightly. “Yeah, what flyboy here is really trying to say is _what the hell do you-_ “

“Tony, no.”

“Sam, yes.”

Sam. That sounds familiar. He remembers Steve saying that name before. Steve… A sharp pang in the back of Bucky’s skull doubles him over on the bed. When the pain lessens some minutes later, he feels a warm hand on the middle of his back. He heaves in breaths until he can see again and it’s Sam touching him. It makes his skin crawl. His face must show his discomfort because Sam quickly moves away.

“Because he doesn’t know anything,” Sam says, continuing some conversation Bucky’s missed. “So there’s no need-“

“There’s a need. There’s a big need in the shape of a person-“

“We’ll get help somewhere else!” Sam cuts in loudly. He pushes Tony toward the door, but Tony digs in his heels.

A deep sense of annoyance starts to prickle at Bucky. He’s used to being talked about as if he isn’t there, but… Well, he’s not sure why, but it angers him now.

“Tell me,” Bucky says, and he levels Tony with what he hopes is a solid stare that denotes mental stability.

Tony looks to Sam, then back to Bucky before Sam finally stops pushing, drops his arms to his sides with a huff and then motions his hand toward Bucky; he’s letting Tony talk.

“This’ll be easier to see than hear,” Tony says and he goes over to one of the two armchairs pushed against the wall. (They’re completely made of cloth. Bucky checked for possible weapon material, but the place is clearly planned to house him.) Tony picks up a discarded tablet and turns it on. He flips through something, then hands it over to Bucky.

Bucky takes it with his left hand and clenches his jaw when the metal sheen doesn’t reflect the light just right. He understands the necessity of the new arm, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys it. It’s functional and so much lighter; it took him a couple hours to readjust to the weight. But it’s not as strong as his old arm. Tony had explained to him the complexities of the new arm, how it still reacts to his body’s organic responses. That’s something, at least. But he’s certain the thing is bugged. Maybe if he tries to leave it’ll attack him or alert the police. 

He already plans to take the thing off before he leaves.

Bucky stares at the tablet. There’s a video on it that Tony taps. It plays.

At first there’s nothing, then two figures slide into view. Steve is ostentatious. That shield is a ridiculous target-

Another sharp pain stabs through the back of Bucky’s skull and he closes his eyes tightly until the pain lessens. When he opens his eyes, the video plays again. (The video had stopped playing when he closed his eyes?) Bucky doesn’t think about Steve. He thinks about the other figure. The familiar stance and movements and proportions.

The face. 

It’s him. Bucky is staring at himself. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. His days spent at the Smithsonian in DC were wrought with images of him doing things he’s never done and being places he’s never been. Laughing at jokes he can’t remember and standing with Steve who-

He stops the train of thought before the pain comes this time.

But the person he’s looking at now… It’s _him_ but it’s an unfamiliar him. He watches the two figures disappear around the corner and the feed cuts out. He hands the tablet back to Tony.

“What is that?” Bucky asks.

“What is-?” Tony looks incredulously at Sam. “What’s? That’s… That’s _you_. That’s _you_ sneaking away with _our_ captain!”

Bucky bites down on his cheek until he tastes blood. 

“Sir, the servers are up.” The voice is disembodied and close, all around. The AI. Bucky remembers that. Who told him?

“Finally!” Tony says.

“There is no indication that Mr. Barnes left the room last night at the time Mr. Barnes and Captain Rogers were escaping the Tower, sir.”

“I’m sorry, say that again?” Tony says politely.

“Mr. Barnes’ heat signature never left the room,” the AI repeats. “And yet there is a 99.9% match with the gentleman leaving the Tower last night at 3 in the morning.”

“How the hell-?” Sam starts, but is interrupted by the door opening. Two women step through.

One is Bucky’s doctor, Betty. The other is Pepper. Bucky files the names away but knows there’s a good chance they’ll be gone by the hour.

“Tony, you’re needed outside,” Pepper says and gives Tony a pointed look. He looks surprised, then leaves. 

Betty comes over to Bucky and starts asking him questions in a soft voice, but he can’t focus on her. Instead, he trains his hearing on the half-open door where a voice is whispering, soft and familiar.

He can’t pick out much, but there is one word that drops his heart straight into his stomach.

 _Clone_.

  


* * *

  


There’s something not quite right about Bucky.

The day spent at the cabin is largely uneventful, Steve busying himself by organizing and reorganizing his duffelbag. He sorts through the kitchen and checks for bugs. Bucky never comes out of the room. Steve makes a can of soup he finds in one of the cupboards and eats half. He knocks on the bedroom door and offers Bucky some, but there’s no answer, so Steve eats the rest, too. He becomes afraid the silence means Bucky has run away again several times, but there’s always the sound of footsteps or a passing shadow to assure Steve that Bucky is still there.

Steve notices that something isn’t quite right when Bucky finally reappears from the bedroom holding a gun aimed straight at Steve. He strides forward until the cold metal is flush against Steve’s forehead.

“I’m going to kill you,” Bucky says. His face is blank as he watches Steve from behind the gun.

Steve feels the initial spike of adrenaline acutely and it gives him the speed and strength to knock Bucky’s hand to the side and lock his arm behind his back. Bucky escapes easily, but Steve isn’t trying to hold him captive; he doesn’t want to break any more bones.

Steve grabs the gun that dropped to the floor and pops the magazine out. It’s empty. He slides it back in and gives Bucky a hard look.

Bucky flexes his shoulder and doesn’t make eye contact. Steve holds out the gun for Bucky to take and he does so before stalking back into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Steve lets out a breath and then another, letting the panic move through him until he can breathe properly again. He sits on the couch and holds his head in his hands.

Bucky’s been unstable before. He’s attacked Steve before, too. But this is…

Whenever Bucky attacks Steve, it’s with some semblance of a plan. It’s with an endgame in mind and it’s using tactics he’s learned from the war or from the Russians. Threatening a man with an unloaded gun that close? Especially when said man has a real, loaded gun just feet away on the oak table in front of the couch? That’s just… _stupid_. What the hell is Bucky playing at? Does he want Steve to kill him? If so, Bucky hasn’t been paying attention.

Steve tries not to think about it. He’s on edge, but he doesn’t hear any noise coming from the bedroom and eventually the light goes out. Steve finds a wool blanket in a chest by the front door and lies on the couch with it, staring up at the ceiling. He hates not having a plan. He can’t work like this. He feels totally and completely useless. 

Steve turns on his side so he’s facing Bucky’s bedroom door and he sighs. There’s a beep from somewhere and Steve reaches down to rifle through his bag. He finds a watch; it’s one he bought for himself to time his jogs. It shows him the time: 9:00. Steve almost puts it back before something catches his eye. 

At the top of the watch are black digital markings that spell out the date. It reads: Dec. 25, 2014.

Steve lets out a light huff and stuffs the watch back in his bag. “Merry Christmas, Buck,” he says softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this BEFORE I left for Christmas vacation, but I completely forgot. Typical.
> 
> i TOLD YOU it was getting so fucking WEIRD


	14. Chapter 14

The panic sets in fast. It takes hold of Bucky’s breathing and closes his lungs, his eyes darken around the edges, and he clutches at the bedsheets desperately. He gasps his way through until his senses come back online. First is his sense of touch. He feels a small hand on the back of his neck and head, and the little, friendly tugs at his hair are so achingly familiar. Then he can breathe again, so he inhales sharply. The smell of clean cotton and peppermint knocks him back a few steps. Where is he? This can’t be right. His body protests against the dull memories flooding his mind but he fights back. 

“Eto normal'no, uchitel'.”

Bucky takes a moment to register the soft voice. But it can’t be…

“Natalia,” he says, his voice rough and shaky.

“Da,” she replies.

If Natalia is here, then he must be… He reaches out and his eyes slowly focus on the figure beside him. It _is_ her. It _is_ Natalia. His hand finds her upper arm and he can feel her tense up, though he doesn’t know why. He wouldn’t hurt her. How could he? She’s his student. His best pupil. His-

He focuses on his surroundings now. A room. Mostly white with two armchairs against the far wall and one next to the bed.

“What happened?” Bucky asks, growing deadly serious with each passing moment. They’ve been captured, that much is clear. The fact that they’re not being tortured says little about their current predicament. He’s been through this too often to trust what’s in front of him. And frankly he doesn’t care about his own wellbeing, but Natalia is so young. She’s strong and brilliant and the best person he knows, but still young.

Except she’s not. He’s looking at her face now and she’s older. 27? 28, maybe? No, that can’t be right. She was only 15 last he saw her. There’s a sharp pain in the back of his head and he cries out, gripping Natalia hard with his… 

His arm isn’t right.

His eyes snap open and he wrenches away to look and-

_Dear God, what did they do to him?_

He tries to stay calm, but he can feel the bile in his throat just before he dry heaves over the bed. Someone grabs his shoulders from behind and says, “Uchitel', you’re safe.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and tries to just _think_. But then his lips are moving, and he’s speaking in a soft hush without knowing why or how.

“Barnes, James Buchanon. Sergeant. 32557038. Barnes, James Buchanon. Sergeant. 32557038. Barnes, James Buchanon. Sergeant…”

“Sergeant?” The voice that cuts in isn’t familiar. It isn’t Hydra. He tries not to hope, he really does, but it’s so difficult when that’s all that’s keeping you alive.

“My name is Natasha Romanoff,” the voice says. “Can you tell me where you are?”

Bucky keeps his eyes closed tightly, but he nods once. “The Alps. We got- We got taken at Azzano. There are others. Other… Other soldiers. Please, you have to help them. Help them first.”

“Bucky? I need you to open your eyes and sit up.”

The name – _his_ name – is like a punch to the gut. No one in the force ever calls him Bucky, so how does this stranger know it? He opens his eyes and sees a plain, white wall. He knows it isn’t right, that this isn’t where he’s supposed to be, but he forces those thoughts back so he can sit up. He’s on a bed in a small room. There are two doors – one is open and it shows a clean looking bathroom while the other is closed. There’s a young woman here with red hair that falls to her shoulders. 

“Where am I?” he asks and he goes to run a hand through his hair, but something’s not right. His arm is… gone. No, not gone. It’s metal. He starts to panic, but then a deep familiarity settles his nerves. The arm is his. They gave it to him. Hydra. His employers. His mission, his _mission_. He’s forgotten his mission. How could he do that? He-

“All right, this is taking way too long,” a voice says. Bucky looks over and recognizes the woman standing by him, but can’t place her. Doesn’t matter. She’s in the way.

He lunges forward, but misjudges his own strength and ends up falling to the floor, braced on an armchair. How did he get this weak? What did these people _do_ to him?

Before he can react, a strong hand pushes him onto his back on the floor and holds him there. He looks into the sharp eyes of his attacker, but instead of malice he reads… annoyance? Desperation?

“Listen, Barnes. Steve has just been kidnapped by a guy who not only looks, but biologically is you and you’re going to stay in one goddamn spot in time so you can fucking help, got it?”

Bucky misses most of the threat. He’s stuck on Steve.

He knew him. The man on the bridge. Steve Rogers. Knew him. 

Knows him.

Shit.

Bucky pushes her hands off him and she relents, sitting back on her heels while he sits up. He still has a headache, but it’s a dull ache now instead of a blinding pain. The last thing he remembers is…

Shit. Again.

“Clones,” he mutters to himself. 

“Yeah.” The woman is- He’s never seen her before and yet she’s more familiar than even Tony Stark. Some memory buried deep resurfaces in blurry images and sounds. 

“You were…” Bucky clears his throat. “You were protecting someone. I shot you.”

She hums a reply. “Didn’t kill me, though. Thanks for that.”

Bucky shrugs one shoulder. “No need,” he replies weakly.

“And as far as we know, by the way, it’s just the one clone. God help us if there’s more.”

“You tracked him?”

“Yeah, as far as the edge of the city. They headed south, but we lost ‘em after that. Sam’s out there now but we haven’t heard anything back, so-“

“Natasha, what the hell are you doing in here?” Tony stops short when he sees Bucky on the floor. “Uh, everything okay?”

“He can help us,” Natasha replies, standing to face Tony with her hands on her hips. (Natasha? Natasha – no, that doesn’t sound right at all.)

Tony puts his hands up. “No need to convince me. It’s Sam who’s gonna be pissed.”

Natasha turns back to Bucky. “We need to know everything about what Hydra was doing with clones.”

Bucky pushes his palm hard against his forehead and thinks, but he can’t remember anything even remotely related to clones. “I don’t know,” he replies. “Even if Hydra is behind this, they didn’t trust me with any information that wasn’t necessary for my mission. I could’ve been involved and never even known. I can’t-“

“Don’t try and push it,” Natasha says calmly. “I believe you.”

Bucky swallows and tries hard not to think about Steve. Thinking too long about the man tends to cause Bucky a great deal of pain, although he’s not sure why. Leftover punishment from Hydra? Either way, it’s becoming more and more difficult to keep the thoughts at bay, the guy is so fucking _prevalent_.

He knows he shouldn’t care one way or the other about him. He can’t actually remember much of anything from their purported past together, just snapshots of images and lingering feelings that he’s too deadened to actually feel. 

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

Natasha’s phone rings and she answers it. “Sam?” There’s a long silence while she listens to the other end and Bucky garners enough strength to push himself up and sit back on the edge of the bed. 

“We’ll be there,” Natasha says and pockets the phone. She turns back to Tony. “He’s found their car and thinks he can try and track them through the woods. We should get out there.”

Tony’s eyes light up. “Perfect excuse to use those portable long-range heat scanners!” He heads out the door in a hurry.

“I’ll send Betty in to check on you,” Natasha says to Bucky. “And she’ll update you if we find anything.”

“No.”

Bucky looks up to see Natasha raising an eyebrow at him. He stands and is relieved when his legs can carry him. “I’m coming,” he says sternly.

There’s an almost unnoticeable twitch of Natasha’s mouth. “Even if you could stand for more than two minutes at a time-“

“I’m fine,” Bucky snaps. 

“Right. Even if – Betty would kill me. Sam would also kill me. Steve, assuming he’s still alive, would give me an incredibly stern lecture, which is actually a whole lot worse than dying. Trust me, I know.”

“You’re not the kind of person to shy away from the possibility of death, though, are you? Look, you either let me come, or I try and fight my way out of this room and end up hurting myself.”

Natasha actually smirks at that. “Fine,” she says. “But one fainting spell and I’m locking you in the car.”

  


* * *

  


Steve wakes to the sun rising and streaming through the uncovered windows of the cabin. He blinks a couple times and looks over at Bucky’s door. It’s closed and Steve listens, but doesn’t hear anything, so he assumes Bucky isn’t awake.

Steve gets up and scrounges around the cupboards until he finds instant coffee. He makes all of it – about six cups’ worth – and only drinks a cup. Coffee doesn’t actually do anything for him, but the placebo effect is enough to make him feel more awake. He stretches out his shoulders and neck before heading outside.

It’s cold out. There’s a fine powdery layer of snow still covering most of the ground, but it’s melted off the trees and there’s a steady drip at the corner of the cabin’s roof. Steve steps down the four stairs and looks around. 

Something’s _wrong_ but he can’t quite figure out what.

And then it hits him: the bodies. The bodies of the people Bucky had killed yesterday morning. They’re all gone. Steve is sure there’d been a man lying right there on the second step and another by that tree, but now there’s nothing. There’s not even any _blood_.

Did he dream the whole thing? Even he isn’t _that_ messed up, right? 

The only other option is that Bucky got up in the middle of night and did it all without Steve waking. Not a very likely option given Steve’s inability to sleep through the softest of noises, but it is seemingly the _only_ option. 

The sound of the door opening behind Steve has him turning with a start. “Bucky,” he says.

Bucky looks at him for a moment. “I thought you’d run,” he says.

Steve furrows his brow. “Why would I do that?”

Bucky shrugs and leans against one of the wood pillars connecting the porch railing to the roof. “It’s what I would’ve done.”

“What did you do with the bodies?” Steve asks, feigning nonchalance. He’s not sure whether he does it well because Bucky doesn’t reply. Instead, he turns back to the cabin and heads inside. Steve is close at his heels.

“Bucky,” Steve says again, more sternly, “what happened to the bodies?”

Bucky goes to the counter where Steve’s left the coffee pot. He sniffs the liquid before pouring himself a cup. He continues to ignore Steve and opens up a drawer. He pulls out a carving knife and stabs the point against the counter a couple times.

“Bucky!” Steve snaps and Bucky finally looks over at Steve.

“Why’s it so goddamn important?” Bucky asks.

“Just… tell me.”

“I cut off their heads and sent them to their loved ones,” Bucky deadpans.

“Stop fucking around. I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Steve clenches his jaw and glowers at Bucky. There’s no reason he _shouldn’t_ believe Bucky; God only knows what he’s capable of now. But that seems a bit overzealous even for him. 

Bucky tuts and rolls his eyes. “I took them a mile away and buried them.”

Steve opens his mouth to reply, then closes it again. He rubs his forehead. “You’re telling me you woke up, dragged, what? _five_ fully grown men a mile into the woods in the freezing cold and buried them in the _frozen solid_ ground? And then cleaned up the blood? With what, exactly?”

Bucky shrugs again. “I don’t see why any of this matters.”

“It just fucking _does_!” Steve shouts.

Bucky puts on a resigned sort of frown. 

Steve makes an exasperated sound and then decides something. “Take off your shirt,” he says.

Bucky’s frown deepens and he raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Just. Take off your shirt.”

Bucky smirks. “Are you changing your mind about it _not being the right time or place?_ ” he asks.

Steve doesn’t qualify that with an answer and when he doesn’t reply, Bucky just rolls his eyes and lifts his shirt over his head. He pulls off his gloves, too, and throws the clothes on the kitchen counter in a heap.

Steve’s eyes immediately stare at the left arm. It’s metal, sure, and the puckered skin where the shoulder meets the arm is familiar. But that’s not what Steve is looking for.

“I’m going to touch you,” Steve says and he watches Bucky’s face for some reaction, but the other man doesn’t move. He stares at Steve as he comes closer.

Despite the warning, Bucky’s muscles tense slightly when Steve places his thumb in between the third and fourth rib on Bucky’s right side. Steve pushes on the smooth skin and feels an intense disappointment drop his heart into his stomach.

Steve looks into Bucky’s eyes and asks, “Who are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all's comments make me wanna roll around on the floor at work tbh. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!!


	15. Chapter 15

_Sometime after the third attempt, Steve started getting angry. He had always been a generally quick-tempered person. (His mother preferred “spirited”, but the number of times he landed in the hospital due to poor choices and a swung fist indicated something else entirely.)_

_But this was a different type of anger. From childhood through to high school graduation, his anger had been deepseated, seething, but mostly harmless. At 90 pounds (on a good day) and 5-foot-nothing, Steve wasn’t really capable of finishing fights. He started them a lot, though. “It was the principle of the thing!” he’d say spitefully to Bucky, spitting blood and dabbing at a split brow. “Couldn’t let that prick get away with it.”_

_Didn’t matter what it was: damsel in distress, kid getting beat up behind an alley, or blatant disrespect. Steve was willing to stand up and fight._

_This was much to the chagrin of Bucky whose whole life had been dedicated to trying to stay under the radar with his head down. That was hard when your best pal was Steve Rogers, the pipsqueak who got into fights at least twice a week in the lunchroom for defending a_ teacher _, of all people. It didn’t help that by the time he turned 16, Bucky was broad shouldered and as handsome as any teenager could get. He was good at school and passed all of his classes with little to no effort on his part. (Most of his studying was done for Steve’s sake because he was more focused on exacting justice than their biology exam.) They got by for a long time doing their dance: Steve starts a fight, Bucky finishes it, Steve fails a test, Bucky tutors him. On and on until it became second nature._

_Life after high school was easier. Steve wasn’t forced to dally with his peers so there were fewer fights and fewer hospital bills. When December 7th, 1941 came and folks started getting drafted in the army, Steve was one of the first to sign up and one of the first to be rejected._

_He tried again and again. His third attempt was in New Jersey and it ended with him storming out, shouting profanities back at the officer in charge. It was childish, yeah, but he was_ angry _. He deserved to be out there fighting for his country. No one wanted to as badly as he did._

_His sour mood kept the whole night as he took the ferry back to Manhattan and then a taxi home. He had the driver drop him off ten blocks before his and Bucky’s apartment just so he could let off some steam walking. Otherwise he’d take it out on Bucky and then Bucky would figure out what he’d done that day and that wasn’t an argument he was willing to have._

_So Steve was angry and tired and walking alone when he happened upon the gang of five or six 20-somethings harassing a girl who couldn’t have been older than 16._

_A few choice words and a punch to the face had Steve out like a light. When he came-to moments later, he heard the laughing and got so_ angry _, so damned upset that these slimy ingrates could probably walk right up to a enlistment officer and be on a plane to Europe the next day, but not Steve Rogers. Not the boy whose father fought in the first World War, who instilled in Steve such a deep, unrelenting respect for his country. No._

_And it wasn’t fucking fair. So he swung again and missed by a good foot, the men howling with laughter by now._

_That’s when Steve saw it: a glint of silver and a hushed silence. One man told his friend to “calm down, man. This kid ain’t worth goin’ to jail for!”_

_Steve blocked the first jab of the knife. The guy was so much bigger, though. So much taller and faster and he wasn’t nursing a concussed head and a broken cheekbone. Steve was fucked. Well and truly fucked. Bucky was going to kill him._

_But not, of course, before Bucky killed the assholes with the knife first. Steve didn’t know where Bucky had come from, but suddenly he was there, shoving the knife-wielder against the wall and telling the other guys to scram if they knew what was good for ‘em._

_Steve pushed himself up and leaned heavily against the wall to catch his breath. Bucky landed a punch in the guy’s gut and he doubled over. Steve didn’t know where the knife went. His eyes searched the ground for it, but came up empty. Had Bucky tossed it?_

_The man lunged forward, tackling Bucky to the ground and his fist met Bucky’s jaw. There was audible popping sound that made Steve whimper out Bucky’s name. But then Bucky was on top again, raining down punches until the guy stopped moving._

_Bucky heaved in huge breaths, still straddling the now-unconscious thug, with his fists clenched hard. The skin of his knuckles was wet with blood and Bucky spit red next to him. Bucky finally let his head fall, putting his hands down to lift himself off the guy._

_Steve took a step forward in a sad attempt to help, and then he saw it: the knife, but it was too late. The guy slipped the knife out of his front pocket and stabbed blindly. The knife stuck straight out of Bucky’s side as he let out an anguished cry that had Steve scrambling forward._

_Steve grabbed at Bucky and dragged him off, but the man had fainted again. Bucky was staring down at the knife with wide, terrified eyes._

_“Fuck,” Bucky breathed._

_“Jesus, are you okay?”_

_“I’ve got a fucking_ knife _in me, Steve! I’m fucking peachy!”_

_“Well, your sense of humor is intact, so I guess you’re not dying.”_

_“There’s a goddamn knife stickin’ outta my ribs! How would you define ‘dying’?!”_

_“We need an ambulance.”_

_Bucky gingerly touched the handle of the knife and whimpered in pain._

_“Don’t take it out!” Steve snapped._

_“I wasn’t going to!” Bucky retorted angrily. “I’m just tryin’ not to faint at the moment.”_

_“Jesus.” Steve wandered to the street and waited twenty infuriatingly long seconds to hail a cab. The cab driver took one look at Bucky and gunned it for the hospital as soon as they were both inside._

_“Just keep breathing,” Steve said._

_“Fuck you, Steve.”_

_“I’m just tryna help here, all right?!”_

_“You could’ve helped earlier by not getting into a fuckin’ knife fight a block away from home!” Bucky snapped, then groaned when the cab driver took a sharp turn._

_They made it to the hospital in record time and the nurses quickly brought Bucky to the back. Steve was forced to wait outside._

_Three hours later, the doctor finally showed up to tell Steve that his friend was just fine and was asking for him._

_Steve liked hospitals. He practically lived in one growing up do to his innumerable maladies and his mother’s profession as a nurse. But now he wanted to be anywhere but there. Staring at Bucky on that hospital bed was the worst sight Steve could’ve conjured._

_“Buck, I’m so sorry,” Steve said as soon as he was in the room._

_Bucky just sighed and pushed himself up on the bed with a grimace. “Steve, I’m not gonna lecture you right now. Besides, there’s nothing I haven’t said yet that you haven’t already heard two dozen times.”_

_Steve pulled up a chair to the edge of Bucky’s bed. “How bad is it?” he asked softly._

_“It wasn’t. I mean, it was deep, but the scab missed my lung and didn’t hit any organs, so I’m fine. It hurts like you wouldn’t believe, though.”_

_“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Bucky. How can you even stand me at this point? I’m so fucking stupid. You could’ve been really hurt! Or killed!”_

_Bucky let out a long breath before replying: “I sort of signed up for this shtick when I agreed to be your best pal, Steve. It comes with the territory. I just wish you’d pick your battles a little better. Or never, actually.”_

_“I know.” Steve let his head fall onto the bed. He felt a warm hand push his hair back until he looked up._

_“Look, it’s not so bad. Doc says the stitches’ll leave me with a pretty scar. Ladies love scars.” Bucky’s smile was sleepy but sincere. Then his expression turned darker. “Where were you today, anyway?”_

_“Bucky, don’t.”_

_“Steve, if you tell me you were talking to another recruiter-“_

_“I wasn’t talking to another recruiter.”_

_“I can’t_ believe _you! It’s like you_ want _to die!”_

_“You know it’s not like that!” Steve snapped. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Shit, I’m sorry. I know. You’re right.”_

_“I want that on my headstone. ‘Here lies James Buchanan Barnes. Steve said he was right once.’”_

_Steve rolled his eyes, but smiled. “You know why I want to do this, Buck. I guess I’m just too stubborn to take no for an answer.”_

_“Stubborn? You? No way. No. Who are you? You’re not my friend. What’d you do with that good-natured, pliable kid?”_

_“All right, all right,” Steve said, punching Bucky softly on the shoulder. “But you get my point.”_

_“Yeah, pal. You know I do,” Bucky replied sincerely._

_They lapsed into an easy silence. Five minutes passed and a nurse showed up to tell Steve that visiting hours were over but Bucky would be released tomorrow morning if he wanted to pick him up._

_As Steve was leaving, Bucky said his name. Steve turned to look at him._

_“I’ll make you a deal,” Bucky said. “You try your damndest to stay out of fights and I’ll train ya.”_

_“What?”_

_“I’ll train ya. That boxing gym down the block. I’m not in any condition to spar or nothin’, but maybe if you can throw a real punch, this shit won’t happen so much.”_

_Steve smiled wide. “Yes! Yeah! That’ll be great!” He ran back to the bed and hugged Bucky tightly around the neck, pressing his lips against his temple. “Thank you, Buck! Thanks!”_

_Bucky laughed and Steve thought it was the loveliest thing he’d ever heard._

  


* * *

  


Steve stares into Bucky’s eyes; he has those same flecks of brown there that Steve has drawn countless times, but that doesn’t explain the scar. It doesn’t explain the gnawing feeling in Steve’s gut that tells him this isn’t his best friend. This isn’t even the shell of his best friend.

Bucky – No. The stranger. He raises an eyebrow at Steve.

“What are you talking about?” the stranger asks, eyes wide and innocent.

“Drop the act,” Steve says, not bothering to hide the vitriol in his voice. He drops his hand from the stranger’s ribs and steps back, shaking his head. “I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it sooner. _Who are you?_ ” he demands again.

It seems like the stranger is going to deny it again, then his expression shifts into something resembling casual malevolence. 

“You’re much better than they gave you credit for,” the stranger says with a heavy Russian accent. It makes Steve shiver because even if this isn’t Bucky, it still sounds exactly like him. _Looks_ exactly like him. 

“Tell me,” the man continues, reaching over and pulling his shirt back on. Steve clenches his jaw and looks over to where his shield is. “What was it? Not the accent. I thought I did that very convincingly. Was it the hair? No, it was something else.”

“Scar,” Steve answers shortly.

“Ah,” the stranger says with a slick little smile. Steve wants to vomit. 

“Where is he?” Steve asks.

“Right where you left him. Although, if all goes according to plan, we’ll have him back sooner rather than later.” The stranger shrugs. “I’m interested to meet him. I hear the resemblance is _uncanny_.” He grins at Steve.

“You won’t go near him,” Steve threatens. He turns to walk toward the couch, but then he hears the familiar click of a gun being cocked. 

The stranger tuts softly and Steve turns back to him slowly. 

“Not so hasty, Captain,” the stranger says. “We’re expecting company, so don’t go disappearing on me.”

“You won’t kill me,” Steve says confidently.

“You’re right,” the stranger replies easily. “I can’t kill you. But I can hurt you. We don’t need your kneecaps, Steven Rogers. We just need your brain.”

Steve swallows and watches as the stranger lowers the gun slightly. He pulls a phone out of his pocket and Steve sighs. How’d he miss _that_?

“Any moment now,” the stranger announces. “Why don’t we meet them outside, hmm?” He motions the gun toward the front door and Steve walks. He steps down the front stairs and turns once he’s on the ground.

“The bodies – they weren’t dead, were they?”

“Smarter than you look, huh?” the stranger quips.

“Tell me something,” Steve says, scanning the trees around him for any signs of life. “You lie to get me out of the Tower. Put on a show that proves Hydra is on our tail so I trust you. I get that. But why did you kiss me?”

The stranger cocks his head slightly to the side and goes to reply, but then he smiles instead, his mouth quirking into a delighted smile. “Company,” he says, and he licks his lips. 

Steve turns around. 

Bucky – the _real_ Bucky – is stalking out of the woods, a murderous look on his face. There’s a shout behind him that sounds an awful lot like Sam, but he doesn’t react. 

“Not a step closer, friend,” the stranger says, and Steve feels the cool metal of a gun pressed against his temple.

Bucky stops when he’s just ten feet away. Steve can see each labored breath and wonders how long he’ll be able to keep _standing_ , let alone fight.

“Buck, what are you doing here?” Steve asks desperately. 

“Shut up,” Bucky snaps and he focuses on the stranger behind Steve. “Let him go.”

“It _is_ uncanny, isn’t it?” the stranger says. “Do you hate the cold, James Buchanan Barnes?”

Bucky’s jaw tightens. “Let him go or I make you.”

The stranger snorts. “Please, try. I’ve been dying for a good fight.”

Bucky lunges forward and Steve ducks as the gun goes off. Bucky is on the stranger in an instant, throwing his metal fist and missing by a mere inch. The stranger dodges Bucky’s hits easily.

Steve can’t step in without fear of hurting Bucky, so he hangs back. Then, there’s a loud whizzing sound and a spark as something attaches to the stranger’s metal arm. Everything stops as the Widow’s Bite fizzles out. The stranger’s arm flickers, he grabs what looks like a translucent piece of pliable plastic, and tosses it to the ground. In its place is a perfectly normal arm.

“Surprise,” the stranger says maliciously before launching himself at Bucky. Bucky reacts too slowly and topples under the other man’s weight.

Natasha dashes out of the woods followed closely by Sam. They all freeze when the stranger gets back up again. He has his gun pointed directly at Bucky’s head. He’s too far to grab and even though both Natasha and Sam have their own firearms pointed at the stranger, Steve’s stomach twists.

A loud whipping sound fills the air and the wind picks up from above. Steve looks to see a large black helicopter. It lands a hundred yards away.

“That’s my ride,” the stranger says.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Natasha says.

“Not alone. The captain and Mr. Barnes are our guests, after all.”

“Over our dead bodies!” Sam shouts.

“Oh, no need!” the stranger replies. “The captain comes peacefully and no one gets hurt. He struggles, and we shoot his dear friend in the face.”

“You’re bluffing,” Steve says.

The stranger pulls the trigger and Bucky cries out, gripping his calf where he’s now bleeding out.

“Stop!” Steve yells, holding out his hand. He turns to Sam and Natasha. “Stand down!”

“Rogers,” Natasha objects.

“That’s an order!” Steve shouts.

They lower their weapons and Steve looks back at the stranger. “We’ll go with you,” he says. 

The stranger looks pleased. “Help him,” he tells Steve, motioning toward Bucky.

Steve gets down on one knee by Bucky. “I’m sorry,” Steve says.

“Shut up and help me, Rogers,” Bucky says, but his anger is diluted with pain. Steve helps Bucky stand and acts as his crutch on his left side. They go to the stranger and wait.

The stranger studies them for a moment before turning back to Sam and Natasha who are watching hopelessly. “I should add,” the stranger says, “that if we are followed, I don’t mind killing Barnes. You were right, Rogers,” he says, turning to Steve. “I can’t kill you. But there’s no such rule that applies to him.” He glances at Bucky who levels him with an impressive glare given his predicament. The stranger smiles. “You’re broken, Barnes. Someone should’ve put you down awhile ago. Frankly, it’s cruel letting you live like this.” He turns and starts walking away. “Let’s go,” he says.

Steve and Bucky follow him into the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was a really good plan, bucky. i'm really surprised it didn't work tbh. smh
> 
> thank you all for commenting/reading. means the world to me that more than, like, the people obligated to lie and tell me it's awesome are reading this.


	16. Chapter 16

Bucky hasn’t spoken in nearly five hours. Or at least Steve _thinks_ it’s been five hours. It’s hard to tell given that the room they’re in doesn’t have windows and they’ve confiscated Steve’s watch (along with everything else he’d had with him except the clothes on his back).

The room is small, clearly built as a cell of sorts, except it has two beds and it’s vaguely clean. The walls are off-white and the room really looks more like an undecorated suite than a jail.

Steve still feels trapped. He paces the room, checking the door that’s airtight and every crack in the walls and ceiling. 

Finally, when Steve’s anxiety lessens to something more akin to unease, he sits heavily on one of the cots. Bucky watches him closely from his sitting position in the corner of the room. 

“You should elevate your leg,” Steve says for the tenth time. Really, he’s lost count how many times he’s said that or something along those lines. 

“I’m fine,” Bucky says, and Steve’s head snaps up to look at him. 

Steve clears his throat and leans forward. “You sure?” Bucky glares at him and Steve sniffs. “Right,” he says. 

They fall back into silence. But Steve is feeling lucky, so he asks, “Do you know where we are?”

A long minute passes and Steve just about gives up waiting for an answer. 

But Bucky actually answers: “I don’t know.”

“You’ve never been here?” Steve asks.

Bucky shakes his head very slightly.

Steve sighs and lets his head fall into his hands. He wishes they’d make a move. Anything is better than this – the torture of waiting. At least Bucky has time to heal.

“You people seem to think I had top level security clearance at Hydra or something,” Bucky says. He shifts slightly and winces. “I knew next to nothing. I knew nothing that wasn’t absolutely pivotal to completing my- my missions.”

Bucky stares at the floor and bites the inside of his cheek.

“Right,” Steve says. “I guess I just assumed you know a little more than I do. I mean, you knew where the bases were.”

Bucky doesn’t reply.

“How’s the leg?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs one shoulder.

“You mind if I…?” Steve motions toward him and Bucky’s eyes grow wide, but then he shrugs again, so Steve moves toward him. He kneels in front of him and touches Bucky’s ankle gently. Bucky watches him closely, but doesn’t recoil.

“Tell me if I hurt you,” Steve says. He starts to roll up the pant leg, careful to not yank when he reaches where the pant has dried onto the leg because of the blood. Bucky lets out a shaky breath, but doesn’t pull back.

Steve assesses the wound. “It’s a clean shot,” he says.

“I know,” Bucky snaps. Then he clenches his jaw.

“Yeah, well, you’re fortunate. The bleeding’s stopped too, but we should get it cleaned anyway.”

“It’s fine.”

“It could get infected, Bucky.”

“I said it’s fine,” Bucky says again and stares straight at Steve. 

Steve puts his hands up in defeat. “Fine,” he says. He sighs and sits back.

“So,” Steve says and Bucky makes an irritated noise. Steve pushes on. “What was the plan, exactly?”

“What are you talking about?” Bucky asks, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

“The plan to rescue me. I’m assuming it didn’t really go according to plan?”

Bucky shrugs. “No plan. I mean, I didn’t have one. Didn’t need one.”

“Y’sure about that?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

“It would’ve worked if you didn’t-“

“Call off the shooting squad?” 

“Yes.”

“What, you _wanted_ me to let you get shot?”

Bucky frowns and avoids Steve’s eyes.

“Bucky,” Steve says quietly, “you know I’d never let you _die_ just so I wouldn’t get captured.”

“I didn’t know,” Bucky says. “I _don’t_ know.”

Steve shakes his head slightly. “Well, now you know.”

Another ten minutes pass in silence. Then, Bucky asks in barely more than a whisper, “Why?”

“Why what?” Steve asks.

“Why didn’t you let him kill me?”

Steve opens his mouth to answer, then shuts it again. “Bucky-,” he starts.

“You heard what he said,” Bucky continues. “He said it was cruel letting me live. That I’m broken.” Bucky glares at the floor. “He’s right. I don’t deserve to-“

“Stop,” Steve cuts in sharply. “Don’t.”

“No!” Bucky snaps, looking at Steve. “It’s true! I’m a fucking failed experiment. A shell of a human being _at best_ and, at worst, I’m a danger to everyone around me.”

“That’s not-“

A loud bang resounds just behind the door before it’s pushed out and two men in full combat gear step through, toting AK-47s pointed directly at Bucky and Steve.

“Vstavat'.”

“I hate Russian,” Steve mutters as he gets up. He helps Bucky up and then puts his arm around his waist while Bucky puts his left arm over Steve’s shoulder. 

“Ne on, tak zhe kapitan.”

Steve looks at Bucky who pushes off Steve to lean against the wall with a huff. “They don’t want me,” he says. “Just you.”

Steve looks back at the guards. “No. I won’t leave him.”

If they understand, they don’t react, so Steve turns back to Bucky. “I’ll be back.”

Bucky huffs out a mirthless laugh. “Sure you will.”

Steve clenches his jaw and goes with the guards.

  


* * *

  


Bucky resigns to his fate. He resigns to his inevitable death and is surprisingly okay with it, if a little peeved.

He did have a rescue plan, just for the record. Just because it didn’t involve actual, well, _planning_ didn’t mean there wasn’t one. It certainly wasn’t as fleshed out as the one that Natasha, Sam, and Tony had come up with. But Bucky’s was more… direct.

His also fucked up the entire mission and got Steve captured.

Yeah, so he’s okay with a slow, painful death. That’s the least of his worries. The only reason he doesn’t tear into the plumbing, rip out a pipe, and cut open a jugular vein is this unsettling need to fix it all.

And with Steve out of the room, Bucky can finally assess the likelihood of that. Leaning against the wall, he puts as little pressure as he can on his left leg. The knee immediately buckles and he catches himself on the wall. He steels himself this time and bites back the pain as he places his full body weight on the leg. It holds him this time, just barely long enough for him to limp forward. Well, that’s something.

Next time maybe he’ll listen to Natasha. Their plan was just slow and involved a lot of waiting and watching. Bucky’s good at those things, but that doesn’t mean he likes doing them, especially when a friend is-

A blinding pain forces Bucky to fall to his knees, crying out and gripping the back of his head. The pain is gone quickly, but Bucky stays where he is, rocking back and forth until the panic in his chest subsides.

“Wouldn’t it just be easier to end it all?” 

Bucky falls to the side and scrambles back to the wall. There’s a man standing casually by the open door, arms in his suit pants pockets. He’s tall and handsome with styled black hair and dark brown eyes. He’s smirking at Bucky and his face shows disgust and pity both at once.

“We never had the good fortune to meet,” the man says. “Pierce always did keep his toys to himself. Didn’t like sharing.” The man rolls his eyes. “Leave it to the baby boomers to fuck up something this monumental, right?” He laughs, but it’s too high, too girlish and it grates Bucky’s fine nerves.

“I’m Alexei Domashev.” Alexei tilts his head slightly as if expecting Bucky to return in kind, but doesn’t. He wouldn’t, even if he had a proper name.

“Well!” Alexei says suddenly, clapping his hands together and making Bucky flinch. “Now that introductions are over, let me explain to you what’s going to happen. See, Pierce wasn’t happy when he died. And I don’t really give a shit one way or the other about the guy, but he _was_ my boss, so I feel like I owe a little retribution on his part. 

“See, the reports started coming in pretty early on once those helicarriers crashed into the Potomac. Reports of _you_. That you’d succeeded in killing Captain America. Well, you can imagine the joy that brought me. Sure, we’d failed the real mission, but that was a longshot, anyway. But Captain America? Dead? No, that was even better, almost! That guy’s just- Well, he gets in the way a lot, doesn’t he?”

Alexei walks forward a few steps and then stops, still staring right at Bucky. “But then someone told me Captain America had _lived_. That no, in fact, the asset had _failed_ to kill him and there were reports that he may have even _saved him_.” Alexei laughs and Bucky pushes himself closer to the wall, wishing he could phase through and disappear forever. The bile in his stomach threatens to come up with every passing second and it’s taking everything in him not to enter the throes of a panic attack.

“I was disappointed. But not surprised. You brainwash a guy for, what, 70 years? And sure, you’ll do some serious damage. He may even listen to you when you tell him to do the terrible things everyone else is too chicken shit to do. But put him up against the only person left in the world he’ll recognize? Jesus. It was like Pierce _wanted_ you to break. I mean, the guy was overzealous, but not _stupid_. He must’ve known there was a chance you’d recognize the good captain as your old war buddy. I mean, right?” Alexei laughs again. “And then, when you _openly admitted_ to him that you recognized the guy? First of all, the fact that you were even _talking_ was, like, hello! Big fucking flashing red lights there! And yet Pierce pushed on? That just blows my mind.

“I’m getting off track here,” Alexei continues. “The point is, you failed. Which wasn’t surprising, but it happened and blah blah blah, now we’re here. And now I’m here to do it better. To do _you_ better. I think you’ve already met him?”

Bucky swallows and Alexei nods slowly. 

“Yeah, he’s mine. He’s great. Hey, listen.” Alexei steps close and then gets down on one knee right in front of Bucky. “You know what a tabula rasa is? Well, I’ll tell you anyway. It means blank slate. The idea that everything we are, everything we do and like and how we act and feel – all of it is shaped starting as soon as we’re born. You had, what? 28 years to fill up that slate? And Pierce and Hydra thought they could just,” Alexei swipes his hand to the side, “wipe it clean. Not how it works. Not totally. 

“No, but with _this guy_ , it’s all new. That’s the great thing about clones. They’ve got all the procedural memory and none of the declarative memory shit. He can snap a guy’s neck, but he’s got no idea when he learned how to do it. More importantly, he doesn’t care. He’s the better you!”

Alexei puts one hand on Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky’s breathing nearly stops. 

“But he’s missing something. That special serum you got way back when? Lost to the ages. So now we need to make more. At first we thought we’d just get you back. Wouldn’t be hard. We’d found you any number of times wandering around Manhattan like a lost dog, but your serum – no offense – just isn’t as good as the original.

“And who can forget Dr. Bruce Banner? Such a tragedy. And we don’t want any mistakes, not like that. So, we needed to get to the source.”

“Steve,” Bucky breathes.

Alexei smiles wide, his teeth too straight and too white for his cruel face. “Steve Rogers. The original super soldier! Getting him to come out would be easy. We already had your double hanging around. But once Steve knew the guy wasn’t _you_ , it was over. See, we have the base of the serum. There’s just a few chemical components we don’t have. And there’s a few very specific tests we have to run to get our answers.”

“If you hurt him, I’ll-“

“You’ll what?” Alexei says kindly, eyes crinkling in the corners. “What will you do? You’re broken! You’re-“ Bucky’s metal arm snaps out and seizes Alexei by the throat. Alexei tries and fails to suck in a breath. Bucky watches with barely restrained pleasure as his face turns red, then purple. That’s when Bucky’s arm stops working. His grip fails and the light metal drops to the cement floor with a soft clang.

Alexei chokes and coughs until he can breathe again. Then he laughs. High, hysterical laughter that echoes in the small room.

Then Alexei is on top of Bucky, holding him down as he rains down punches. Bucky feels his nose break and blood fills his mouth. He tries to fight back, but his left arm is useless and Alexei has his right in a death grip. Bucky brings up his right leg and manages to roll out of the man’s straddle long enough to spit out the blood and prepare for the next onslaught. 

It doesn’t come. Bucky opens his eyes – one is swollen shut – and finds that Alexei has stood up to dust off his blood-spattered suit and push back his hair.

Bucky knows it’s coming, unavoidable. “Just kill me,” he says weakly. 

“No luck,” Alexei says, all the humor gone from his voice. “You get to live to see us take your beloved captain apart, piece by bloody piece. Thank you for your time, _Bucky_. It’s been enlightening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm forming a Let's All Give Bucky A Big Hug Club and you're all VIPs.


	17. Chapter 17

This is somehow _better_ than Steve anticipated. In his short, escorted walk down dimly-lit, underground hallways, Steve had imagined all kinds of terrible tortures awaiting him.

But this is something else entirely. Certainly not torture, although Steve is holding his breath. No, this is… training? It reminds him of training.

The stranger stands at attention a yard away, fists raised and a smirk pulling at his much too familiar mouth. His nose is bloody from a well-aimed punch by Steve. Steve is sporting some bruises of his own and he’s sure more than one of his ribs is fractured. An hour ago, he’d been working on adrenaline, fighting like a real scrapper, but then he realized his opponent _wasn’t_ and things changed.

“Sdelayte pereryv,” comes a male voice over the speaker. It’s familiar and welcome. Steve’s not sure what the direct translation is, but it means they get a reprieve from fighting.

“Poleznym, priyekhat',” the speaker says and the stranger leaves through a door on the far side of the empty, nondescript room. Steve thinks that’s the stranger's name – Poleznym – but can’t be for sure. He’ll ask Bucky when he gets back to the room. Steve’s heart rate quickens at the thought. He hopes Bucky’s safe. God knows what they’re doing to him.

Steve flexes his fingers and cracks his neck. Poleznym returns, stretching his arms above his head and looking bored. This is a tired routine now, having been fighting on and off for close to four hours. 

“Tired yet, kapitan?” Poleznym asks easily.

“I could do this all day,” Steve replies and puts up his fists.

Poleznym cocks his head to the side before striking forward, dropping low and kicking out Steve’s feet from under him. The wind is knocked out of him, but he recovers quickly, rolling backward as Poleznym’s heel comes down right where Steve’s face had been moments before. Apparently, they’re done playing nice.

Steve gets to his feet just in time to dodge a knee and he takes the opening to connect his fist with Poleznym’s sternum, knocking the man back a step. They eye each other a long moment before they’re back at it again.

It’s a long fight this time, probably close to fifteen minutes of sheer adrenaline-motivated jabs and sucker punches. When the speaker comes on, neither of them stop scrapping, so sure the other will get the last hit if they do so. It takes two guards physically dragging them apart for the fight to end.

Poleznym spits blood to the side and smiles a bloodstained smile at Steve. “We’re done,” Poleznym says lightly, but the guard doesn’t relinquish his grip. 

“Vy sdelali kogda my govorim vy sdelali,” the guard replies. 

Poleznym’s smile falters and grows into something closer to a grimace. Steve frowns slightly.

“Are you going to tell me what the point of all this is now?” Steve asks. But just like the last five or so times Steve has asked, he gets no reply.

“Pozvol'te mne pogovorit' s Alexei,” Poleznym says, a little softer to the guard.

Suddenly, the guard drops Poleznym to his knees and aims a heavy-booted kick to his ribs. Poleznym folds into himself as the kicks keep coming, the guard barking something in Russian.

Steve lunges forward, catching his own captor off-guard and breaking free so he can tackle Poleznym’s attacker to the ground. “Stop!” Steve shouts, pinning the man down. The room is completely silent except for Steve’s heavy breaths. Then, Steve is torn away from the guard heavily. He glares at Poleznym’s guard as he gets to his feet, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he looks over at Poleznym.

And Poleznym looks _horrified_. He’s staring at Steve like Steve’s just insulted him instead of saved his hide.

Steve is jerked toward the door and led back down several hallways, back to the cell where he and Bucky are kept. Steve is pushed inside and he stumbles forward. He sees Bucky huddled up on the cot, staring right at Steve, mouth hanging open.

“Jesus, what happened to you?” Steve asks, stepping toward him and kneeling down in front of the bed. Bucky’s face is littered with bruises and open wounds. It looks like there’d been more blood, but it’s been cleaned up. 

“I should ask you the same thing,” Bucky replies and Steve realizes he must look remarkably similar.

“I guess we both had pretty shit days, huh?” Steve quips, falling back and sitting cross-legged on the cool cement. To be able to just breathe is nice for a change. He hopes it lasts.

“I’ll tell you about mine if you tell me about yours,” Steve adds with a half-smile.

Bucky lets out a shaky breath; clearly whatever happened has shaken him pretty badly. “I met the boss. Alexei.”

“Alexei?” Steve swallows. “I heard that name, too. Did he- Was he the one who did this to you?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods once then a small smile tugs at the side of his mouth. “I started it.”

Steve snorts. “Course you did.”

“You?” Bucky asks, loosening up enough to stretch out his legs and lean forward.

“I did _not_ start it, actually.”

“There’s a first time for everything.”

Steve pauses and gives Bucky a delighted little smile. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’m not sure what they’re doing, exactly. Training? I was forced to do hand-to-hand combat with your double. They call him something. Um, Poleznym?”

Bucky barks a laugh. “Not much of a name.”

“It means something?”

“Useful.”

“Oh.”

Bucky shrugs. “The fact that they call him anything is surprising, really. They probably treat him better than they ever did me.”

Steve sighs. “I’m not so sure. One guard went down pretty hard on him for no reason. Or at least, none that I could see.”

Bucky hums thoughtfully. “Who cares? Hopefully one of the guards’ll snap and kill him. One less problem.”

Steve’s gut clenches at the words and he wonders why. What does he care for Poleznym? And yet, he stood up for the guy. Poleznym had effectively done this to them – brought him and Bucky to this place to be beaten bloody, and then Steve had gone and saved his ass? Not really a smart move.

But Steve knows Poleznym is just a chess piece in a much larger game. So what if he feels bad for the other guy’s pawns? It’s not exactly a smart battle tactic, but Steve can’t just turn it off whenever he feels like it. Never could. Not like Bucky could.

  


* * *

  


They’re given food some hours later. Bread and some sort of cold oatmeal and water. It’s not much, but Steve is glad to see Bucky eat the whole roll, even if he does pass on the oatmeal.

“So, what was your plan, anyway?” Steve asks.

Bucky groans. “Will you drop it already? I fucked up, I get it.”

“No, no, I just mean… Where was Stark? He could’ve blasted in and saved us all, but…”

“He couldn’t,” Bucky says, dropping the food tray on the floor and then shoving it to the door with his foot. “Some sort of electromagnetic pulse was knocking out all the electronics in the area.”

“How’s that possible? The helicopter-“

“Natasha thought it was just to the north, where the access road was. Does it matter? Any of it? We’re here. And we’re not leaving anytime soon.”

“What makes you say that?” Steve asks, leaning back against the wall with a frown. 

Bucky looks over at Steve on the other cot. “Hydra bases aren’t known for their conspicuous nature. Your friends won’t find us.”

Steve shrugs one shoulder. “They’ve got technology that can-“

“Listen,” Bucky snaps, sitting forward, “I’ve been to 50-some Hydra bases in my time working for them, and I’ve destroyed nearly all of them. And this one? Not even on my radar. Trust me. Your friends aren’t going to be of any help to us.”

“You… You destroyed all the Hydra bases? The base we visited in Maine,” Steve realizes suddenly. “ _You_ did all that damage? Why’d we go back, then?”

“Because you wanted to see it. You _needed_ to see it. I thought if you knew what they did to me, you’d-“ Bucky stops abruptly and drops his head into his hand. “It doesn’t matter.” Steve notices how his left arm lays uselessly next to him, but doesn’t comment. He hopes it isn’t hurting him, that Stark didn’t miscalculate something.

“How long had you been following Sam and me?” Steve asks.

Bucky sniffs. “A month? Maybe a little more.”

“A _month_? And you never said anything?” Steve asks, incredulous.

Bucky shrugs. “Didn’t have anything to say. Just wanted to… watch.” Bucky clenches his jaw. “Look, none of this matters. What matters is getting you out of here.”

Steve looks at Bucky for a long moment. “And you.” 

Bucky stares straight ahead at the closed door with a determined look.

“Bucky!” Steve says, positioning himself so he’s facing him. “You’re getting out of here, too.”

“I’m the reason you’re here at all,” Bucky replies. He looks at Steve. “I deserve to die here.”

Steve groans. “Jesus, Buck. _No you don’t._ ” Steve pushes his hair back with a hand. “We’re both here,” he says sincerely, “no matter how we got here. And we are _both_ getting out, understood?”

Bucky doesn’t reply, but he also doesn’t break eye contact with Steve.

“Understood, Sergeant?” Steve says with a small smile.

Bucky swallows. “Understood, Cap.”

  


* * *

  


Steve and Bucky are allowed four hours of sleep. (Again, Steve is guessing the time and he already feels disoriented not knowing if the sun is even up.) Afterward, Steve is once again dragged away to spar with Poleznym.

Poleznym is harder today, all dirty tricks and foul play without his typical playful smirk. It worries Steve. He’d somehow gotten used to Poleznym’s cynical personality, and now he’s fighting like his life actually depends on it. Perhaps Steve’s does, too.

Superficially, Steve knows he’s not fighting Bucky. He knows this person might look like him, might sound and move and even somehow _smell_ like him, but isn’t. Yet deep in the heart of him, Steve knows that if it came down to it, he couldn’t kill Poleznym.

Which is becoming a difficult realization, because Poleznym isn’t pulling punches; he’s out for blood. He knocks Steve’s head hard against the concrete wall and doesn’t wait for his vision to stop tunneling to land a punch to the solar plexus. Steve buckles and catches himself before he hits the ground. He rolls, but Poleznym is on top of him, holding him down. Fortunately it takes all of his strength to keep Steve’s arms at bay, so the damage is limited.

Bucky had told Steve about Poleznym. Told him that the clone doesn’t have the serum yet and they’re testing Steve for _something_ , though he doesn’t know what or even how. Despite Poleznym’s lack of enhanced strength and endurance, he keeps up with Steve in a way no one else could, which leads Steve to believe that even if Poleznym doesn’t have the super soldier serum, he has _something_ keeping his motor running longer than the average human.

Steve puts all his strength into kneeing Poleznym hard, but he doesn’t relinquish his grip on Steve’s arms. He leans forward, so close to Steve that he can feel his labored breath on his cheek.

“Why’d you help me?” 

Steve’s eyes grow wide. The words are so soft, he barely hears them.

“Wha-?” Steve starts, but Poleznym retreats, rolling off Steve just as a voice barks an order in Russian over the intercom.

Steve pushes himself back against the wall and watches Poleznym closely. He’s not looking at Steve as he flexes his left arm and shoulder. As if nothing had happened. Steve swallows and steels himself for the next round.

Poleznym doesn’t relent and Steve keeps up, watching carefully and waiting until he can pin the man up against the wall and whisper: “Because you needed help” before taking half a step back, opening himself up to attack. It’s a stupid move, Steve knows it. But he has to figure this out and he doesn’t see any other way.

Poleznym’s blue eyes flick down and back up in a moment and he sends a fist flying, but when it connects, Steve can feel his hesitation, his confliction. 

The rest of the fight is choreography. They dance and fight, but it’s all show. Grunts and cries of pain caused by glancing blows and clumsy kicks. If the people watching notice, they don’t say anything. Poleznym looks nervous, twitchy, but that lingering smile returns, slowly but surely until even Steve is enjoying himself.

That’s how Steve fucks up. He trusts that Poleznym’s playing along, that he’s not just gaining his trust. And when Steve leaves himself wide open, Poleznym takes the opportunity to thrust him hard against the wall, audibly cracking his skull against the hard surface. 

Steve blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for reading and commenting. Really makes these shitty days so much easier. <3
> 
> Also, new story summary thing. Yay.
> 
> OH. and Poleznym is pronounced poh-LEEZ-nuhm. Which is terrible when you realize Alexei's nickname for him is Nym (pronounced like Numb).
> 
> And remember when I said I wouldn't end every chapter with Bucky fainting or running away? lmao i TOLD you


	18. Chapter 18

“You have a concussion.”

“I’ve had worse.”

“How the hell do you expect to get out of here if you’re in a coma?”

“You’ll have to carry me out.”

Bucky scowls. “Fine. Die. See if I care.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You care. You put up your hackles and bark and growl, but you care. No use denying it, Buck. I can see right through ya.”

“Shut up, Rogers.”

Steve grins and then flinches. Poleznym really did a number on him. The bleeding’s stopped, but Bucky’s right; he probably does have a concussion. He’d come-to in their cell, having been out for maybe a half hour. 

“Have you got an escape plan yet?” Steve asks and leans back lightly against the wall behind his cot.

“If I did, I wouldn’t tell you,” Bucky says bitterly. Steve frowns, but Bucky just motions to the two conspicuous security cameras with his right hand.

“Right,” Steve says. He watches as Bucky repositions himself slightly on the bed, his metal arm staying motionless.

“What’s with your arm?”

Bucky frowns. “Nothing.”

“Did it break? Stark’s a genius, but even _he_ can make mistakes.”

“Not Stark,” Bucky mutters as he grabs his left arm with his right hand. “I tried to strangle Alexei with it. Now it doesn’t work. Wish Stark had told me how to remove it ‘cause it’s just dead weight now.”

“I wouldn’t suggest it. That thing is connected to your nerves and veins. And maybe it’s just temporary. They obviously think you’ll use it to try and get out. Or kill the big bad boss.”

“They’re not wrong,” Bucky says. “I should’ve finished the job quicker. Should’ve snapped his neck. But I wanted to see the life go out of his eyes, wanted to feel his last breath on my fingertips.” Bucky looks wistfully down at his open metal palm.

They fall into a tense silence that Steve eventually breaks: “Why’d they put us in the same room, anyway? Seems like a bad calculation on their part.”

“Hydra isn’t known for taking prisoners,” Bucky replies. “I doubt they have more than this room for keeping people. The real question is why are they keeping me alive?”

“Buck…”

“No, I’m serious. There’s no reason to keep me here. I’m not _useful_. If anything, I’m a liability.” Bucky sighs. “I imagine the waiting is part of the torture.”

  


* * *

  


The third day of fighting is a real struggle. Steve is sore and the four or five hour reprieves aren’t near enough time to heal the worst of his wounds. He’s tired and stressed and in desperate need of actual food. He’s grateful that Bucky hasn’t seen any fights since that first day, and the gunshot wound in his leg is healing nicely. If Hydra is waiting for Steve to refuse so they can take it out on Bucky then they’ve got another thing coming. Steve’ll keep fighting till he keels over if it means keeping Bucky safe.

When Steve enters the room, fists raised and jaw clenched, it takes him a moment to reassess. Poleznym isn’t there. Instead, there’s a man that can’t be much older than Steve with dark hair and darker eyes. 

“You must be Alexei,” Steve says, dropping his fists but holding his stance.

The man inclines his head. “So wonderful to meet you. The star-spangled man with a plan.” Alexei smiles sweetly. “You can relax,” he adds, holding up a hand. “You won’t be fighting today. Nym needs a break. Besides, that part of our little experiment is over. We got what we needed.” 

That makes Steve nervous. He doesn’t want to be told that he’s doing exactly what Hydra wants him to, but he hasn’t had a choice.

“So, we’re moving on. You’ll be relieved to hear that all you’ll have to do is sit and watch.” Alexei motions with his hand and Steve notices a plastic chair off to the side he hadn’t seen before. Then, the door opens and two guards come in, rolling a stand with a small TV on it into the room.

“Well,” Alexei says cheerily, clapping his hands together, “I’ll leave you to it.” He gives Steve a sort of half-bow and exits the room after the guards.

The TV switches on and shows what looks like a stationary security camera view of a well-lit room. Steve’s stomach drops when he recognizes the machinery in the image and he steps closer to the TV. The room is empty and there’s no sound; Steve can hear his heart beat in his own ears, heavy and loud.

Then, a few figures come into view. Two are dressed in uniform – guards – and they’re toting another figure between them.

“No,” Steve breathes. It’s Bucky. They’ve got Bucky. It could be Poleznym. But no, Poleznym’s hair is shorter. Maybe it’s a trick. Maybe Bucky is safe and they’re tricking Steve into getting worked up about this when there’s no need to. 

But deep down, Steve knows he isn’t watching Poleznym.

The guards drag Bucky’s seemingly lifeless body over to what looks like a chair in a dental office; Steve knows better. He’s seen that thing before, both in photos and in person.

The sound on the video kicks in and he can’t hear anything but a hum of white noise. Then, very softly, he can hear Bucky’s voice. “Prosto yemu bol'no,” he says weakly.

The worst part about it isn’t that Bucky is there or that Steve is being forced to watch, but that Bucky doesn’t even fight it. He lets them strip his shirt off and shove him into the chair. He doesn’t protest when they force his head back and strap him down. He proffers his mouth and they slip the guard in. Off-screen, Steve can hear Alexei’s voice giving orders in Russian. They tie Bucky’s arms down and Steve can see how his breathing picks up as the panic sets in. Steve feels it too, though his is tinged with desperate sadness.

“Please no,” Steve says, clutching both sides of the TV until his knuckles are white. “Don’t do this.”

A surge hits Bucky and his body reacts violently. He thrashes uselessly against the bonds, his chest rising off the chair as his eyes roll back. His scream is muffled but still there, only just audible over Steve’s choking sobs and incomprehensible pleas to stop.

There’s a short reprieve and Bucky comes-to for a brief moment, eyes focusing and chest heaving unevenly in sheer panic.

“Again,” Alexei says.

“ _No, Jesus, please not again! I’ll do anything, please! Stop!_ ” Steve screams.

Steve hears Bucky whimper right before a loud siren sounds and the lights go out, the TV shuts off, and dead silence fills the air. Steve holds his breath, waiting for something to happen. He backs up until he hits the wall, then shuffles right so he’s in the corner. He waits. He waits for a long, long time.

If this is a test, and he’s almost certain it is, then they must be waiting for him to make a move. But he’s done playing their games. He’ll wait forever if he has to.

Steve isn’t sure how long it’s been when he finally hears movement outside the door. There’s a shout – something in Russian – and two loud thuds. Then the door opens and Steve hears footsteps.

“Steve.”

Steve’s heart picks up and he’s sure it can be heard in the silence. “Bucky?” Steve whispers, taking half a step toward the voice in the darkness.

There’s a slight laugh, then: “Try again.”

“Poleznym,” Steve realizes.

“Don’t sound so disappointed, kapitan,” Poleznym says and Steve can actually _hear_ the smile in his voice. “Now, are you coming or not?”

Steve takes another tentative step forward. “This is a test,” Steve says, but he’s not so sure anymore.

“It’s not, but I don’t expect you to believe me. Either way, would you rather stay here?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’ll follow you,” he says.

“Follow close, then,” Poleznym replies and Steve does, trailing Poleznym’s soft footfalls through the door and out into the hall.

“How can you see?” Steve asks quietly.

Poleznym stops abruptly and Steve nearly runs into him. He takes Steve’s hand and drags it up until Steve is touching his cheek, then moves it further up.

“Goggles?” Steve asks, tapping lightly on the plastic.

“Of the night vision variety, yes. Now shut up and follow.”

Poleznym is surprisingly quiet as they make their way through the silent halls. At one point, Poleznym’s hand appears on Steve’s chest to stop him, and a few yards ahead Steve can hear hushed voices speaking in Russian.

Steve starts when he feels a soft breath on his ear. Poleznym whispers, “Stay.” 

Steve presses his right side against the wall and against his better judgment, waits. Moments later, there’s a shout by one of the guards and the distinct sound of a gun with a silencer going off. There’s a soft thud and then quick footsteps toward Steve.

“Let’s go,” Poleznym says. “We’re not far from the exit.”

“The exit? Wait, no. We have to get Bucky.”

Poleznym grunts. “There’s no time.”

“Then make some,” Steve snaps. “I’m not leaving without him.”

“No,” Poleznym retorts. “I don’t owe him anything. I won’t risk my life for him.”

“Then I’m going back.” Steve starts walking back the way they came. He’s not entirely sure where he is, but it doesn’t matter. He’ll run into a guard eventually and give himself up.

“Chto yebat',” Poleznym hisses before catching up and pulling Steve back. “That’s not where he is.”

Steve smiles and finds satisfaction in the annoyed noise Poleznym makes at him. “Keep up,” he mutters.

They walk for awhile, turning every so often, and Steve is careful to stay close. 

“This is the room he was in,” Poleznym says softly as they come to a halt. “If they moved him, we’ll have to go back to your room, but I’ll check here first and we-“ Poleznym grunts and his body slams into Steve. They both topple over. Steve struggles up as Poleznym fights back the now-shouting guards. A gun goes off and Steve hears the bullet ricochet off something nearby.

“Bucky!” Steve shouts over the noise.

“Shut up, urod!” Poleznym snaps. There’s the tell-tale sound of a body hitting the floor and then Steve feels a strong grip on his arm.

“They already know we’re here,” Steve says, yanking away from his grasp.

“Well, they certainly do _now_. Come on.” He walks forward and Steve feels with his right hand the threshold of an open door.

Poleznym hums in interest. “He’s still here. No guards. Stay put and I’ll get him.”

Steve swallows as he hears Poleznym walk away. Some feet away, Steve recognizes the sound of leather straps coming undone and moving metal. 

“Spyashchaya krasavitsa,” Poleznym says, his voice strained. “Time to go.”

Suddenly, the lights come on and Steve is blinded, squinting away from the burning white. It takes a moment to adjust and in that time Poleznym has hefted Bucky to Steve’s side. He’s conscious, but just barely, one arm slung around his clone.

That’s when Steve notices Poleznym. Or, rather, his face, which is covered in bruises and open gashes – injuries not caused by Steve. His goggles sit on his forehead now.

Steve shoves down those questions for a later time and instead puts his hands on either side of Bucky’s face, lifting his head so he can see him. Bucky’s eyes open slightly.

“Bucky? We’re gonna get you outta here,” Steve says.

Poleznym tuts. “Not at this rate. Move it, kapitan.”

“I’ll take him,” Steve says, sidling up next to Bucky. “You lead.”

Poleznym nods and does so, taking a gun with a silencer out of the back of his pants. He steps out into the hallway.

There’s immediately gunfire and Steve retreats back into the room while Poleznym takes care of it. Bucky seems to wake at the loud noise. There’s another pop from a gun and this time Bucky’s eyes snap open and he lurches away from Steve.

“Hey, it’s me!” Steve says, hands out. “You remember me?”

Bucky swallows and stares at Steve, then around the room. Steve can see the puzzle pieces slipping together in Bucky’s mind. He turns back and says, “Steve? What are you-?”

“Let’s move it!” Poleznym shouts, popping out the magazine of his gun and replacing it with another from his pocket. 

Bucky’s eyes slide to the clone and his expression hardens. Before Steve can stop him, he rushes Poleznym, shoving him against the wall. 

“Bucky, stop!” Steve shouts and pulls Bucky back. It’s not hard; he’s weak and his left arm is still uselessly hanging by his side. “He’s helping us!” Steve tells him, gripping his shoulder tightly.

Bucky frowns. “No. He-“

“We can argue later,” Poleznym snaps. “If we stay here much longer then we may as well kill ourselves ‘cause we’ll be dead in a minute anyway.” He rushes out and Steve forces Bucky to follow.

It’s a slower and more difficult journey back to the exit. The halls are built like a maze which makes it easier to avoid guards, but it sends them off-track a number of times. Finally, they reach a door and when Poleznym wrenches it open, Steve is relieved to see a staircase behind it leading up.

They race up the stairs, Steve pulling the door closed behind them. They reach another door at the top which takes a few strong kicks from Poleznym to open. It opens onto what looks like a lobby. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows are straight ahead of the open expanse of tiled floor. There’s an empty reception desk to their right which they’re quick to dive toward, all three crouching down and pressing their backs against it.

Suddenly, a siren sounds and an automated voice says something in Russian. 

“They know we’re here,” Poleznym says and sure enough, guards start siphoning into the room, guns raised, searching and yelling at each other in Russian.

“Shit,” Steve says, wishing more than ever that he had his shield.

“Make a run for it.”

Steve stares at Poleznym in disbelief. “We’ll get shot down in a second,” Steve hisses.

“I’ll cover you.” Poleznym smirks. “I’m a good shot.”

“What? No! They’ll kill you.”

“They’re going to kill me no matter what,” he replies with a shrug. “May as well make it quick so they can’t torture me, too.”

“You can’t,” Steve says determinedly.

“He can and he will,” Bucky cuts in.

“Bucky…,” Steve says.

“He got us here and he’s getting us out. Fair’s fair.”

“Jesus, Buck, he’s gonna _die_! We can’t-“

“Who _cares_?” Bucky snaps.

Steve opens his mouth to reply, but Poleznym cuts him off: “He’s right. And we don’t have time to argue. I’m doing this. You either use the distraction to escape or I die for nothing. Your choice, kapitan.”

Steve swallows and looks at Poleznym’s familiar smirk. “Thank you,” he says finally.

“S udovol'stviyem,” Poleznym replies. He leans forward, one hand against Steve’s chest, and presses his lips against Steve’s for a brief moment before standing up and taking out three guards. Chaos erupts around them, guns going off all around while Poleznym slips out of view.

Bucky grabs Steve’s arm and tugs. They have to leave now – this is their opening, Steve knows it. But he can’t leave Poleznym behind. After everything he’s done…

“He’ll die for nothin’ if we don’t move it, Rogers!” Bucky snaps and Steve finally focuses his attention on the front door. 

Bucky waits a moment before sprinting forward, Steve close at his heels. Bucky isn’t willing to wait and see if the front door is locked, so he braces himself and falls heavily against it, using his left arm as a shield and crashing through. Steve helps him back up and they run.

There’s the distinct and familiar sound of Alexei’s voice over an intercom, shouting something in Russian, but they don’t look back. They head into the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Into the Woods plays in the background]
> 
> Things are gonna start looking up. Or not necessarily UP, but maybe forward? Whatever. The shit hath hitteth the fan and rained down, so now it's just clean up.
> 
> Which isn't to say Alexei is gone. No way. He's plotting. He's bought a big, white fluffy cat just to pet evily while he does his plotting.
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://castiowl.tumblr.com).


	19. Chapter 19

_”I told you this was a bad idea,” Bucky said._

_“Bucky,” Steve said weakly, sitting down heavily on the rocky path, “what did I tell you?”_

_Bucky rolled his eyes, looking exasperated. “Steve-.”_

_“Bucky,” Steve countered, raising an eyebrow at him._

_Bucky stared down at him in disbelief. “No worrying,” Bucky said finally._

_“Right. Unless I say to start worrying,” Steve added._

_“You’re unbelievable.”_

_Steve gave him the biggest, shit-eating grin. How anyone thought this kid was innocent was beyond Bucky. Really, he was more akin to a demon than an angel, but leave it to the masses to think blonde hair and blue eyes meant virtue._

_“This was a terrible idea,” Bucky muttered as Steve stood back up and shouldered his backpack. “You know if you die, I die, too? Your ma was very clear on that front.”_

_Steve started walking and Bucky kept to his side. The trail was wide in this area and they’d made it up the worst of the hills to a plateau of sorts. Apparently there was an overhang somewhere nearby._

_“Slim it, Buck,” Steve said, elbowing him. “This is supposed to be a vacation.”_

_This wasn’t really what Bucky called a vacation; he’d much rather be back at home napping on the couch, using his days off from the docks to catch up on some much needed sleep. But Steve had insisted they use his time off for something_ fun _. Fun apparently meant two cityslickers, one of whom was asthmatic, hiking in the Catskills._

_Steve’s ma had protested at first, but then Steve was all charm and spoke of fresh air and clean living and suddenly they were packing sleeping bags, a tent, and a night’s worth of food and water into their old high school bags and using Bucky’s pa’s Roamer to make their way north to the campgrounds._

_That had been Bucky’s favorite part of the trip so far. Windows down, sun beating hot on their skin as they rolled down the pavement, Steve frowning at a map bigger than three of him put together. Steve had just turned 19 and he’d never looked so incredible and it had never made Bucky so sad because deep down he knew these moments were fleeting and their impermanence was heightened by the stark truth: sometime in the future, maybe tomorrow, maybe ten years from now, Steve would find someone else. Someone who saw him for who he was and what he was capable of, more than his small form and physical weaknesses. Someone who wasn’t Bucky._

_Because what he and Steve had now was nice. No, it was more than nice. It was bliss, plain and simple. But Steve wasn’t built for surreptitiousness. He was built for the spotlight, for public appreciation and someone who could be there for him inside the bedroom and out._

_It just wasn’t_ fair _. Bucky didn’t think what he and Steve had was wrong or remarkably different from what any other normal couple had. And yet they weren’t_ normal _, were they?_

_“Everything all right back there?” Steve called and Bucky realized he’d fallen behind. He caught up to Steve and mussed his hair, reveling in the pouty look Steve gave him whenever he did so._

_“Course, pal,” Bucky said._

_“Map says it’s only a quarter mile to the campsite,” Steve said, peering down at the folded up piece of paper._

_“Thank god for that,” Bucky breathed and Steve rolled his eyes._

_“How is it I’m the only one enjoyin’ this?” Steve asked, shoving the map in his pocket and readjusting his bag._

_“You’re right. Sweating my ass off on a glorified hill is the pinnacle of fun in my book.”_

_Steve frowned up at Bucky who finally cracked a smile. “I’m joshin’ ya, okay?” Bucky slung an arm around Steve’s shoulder. “I’m having a great time, minus the little heart attacks every now and then.” Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Bucky cut him off: “Kidding! Again. Kidding. I’m havin’ the time of my life.” Steve gave him a disbelieving look. “Honest, Stevie,” Bucky added, a little quieter._

_“All right,” Steve said._

_They fell into silence, the only sound their footfalls and heavy breathing, Bucky keeping his ear trained on the raggedness of Steve’s breathing because pigs’ll fly the day he stops being a mother hen, despite Steve’s protests._

_“Steve,” Bucky said, slowing a little. Steve noticed and turned to face Bucky, both boys coming to a standstill._

_“Yeah?” Steve asked._

_“I’m having a good time.”_

_Steve’s brow furrowed. “Uh, okay?”_

_“I need you to know that.”_

_“Okay?” Steve said again. “I believe you.”_

_“Yeah, I’m just letting you know. I’m having a good time now, but I expect we’ll be having a better time when we get to the campsite. The_ best _time.” Bucky raised an eyebrow at Steve, but Steve just looked even more confused._

_“What are you-?” Steve stopped and the way his face gradually grew from heat-toned pink to a flustered red was just about too much to handle. Then his expression abruptly changed into a strange blankness that was hard to read._

_“Steve-?” Bucky started, but Steve cut in: “First to the site gets to top,” before turning and sprinting off._

_Bucky guffawed and chased after him._

_And if Bucky let him win, well, there wasn’t anyone who could prove it._

  


* * *

  


Bucky doesn’t bat an eye when Steve hunts down the first payphone. Of course he can’t use it because neither of them is carrying change, so Steve heads inside of the retro motel to use the phone at the front desk.

Bucky waits impatiently. He’s itching to run because there’s no way they’ve not been followed, and yet their trek through the woods had gone undisturbed, not counting the deer they’d run into that Bucky had almost punched in the face. 

Steve came back out five minutes later looking worn but less twitchy.

“Help is on the way,” Steve says cheerily. He sits heavily on the curb. 

True to form, a loud whirring sound announces the arrival of Tony Stark, clad in an all-silver Iron Man suit. He lands with a loud clang next to them in the empty parking lot. 

He flips up his mask and grins widely, arms out. “Cap! You’re alive!”

Steve stands up. “We just spoke on the phone, Tony,” he points out.

“Yeah, well, Hydra fucked with us pretty bad. Can’t trust anyone or anything, ya catch my drift?” 

Steve nods once and runs a hand through his hair. “I hope you’re not expecting us to all get in that suit,” Steve quips. But just as he finishes, there’s a thrumming beat above them that kicks up the dirt at their feet. Bucky shields his eyes as the quinjet lands expertly up the hill from the motel, lilting slightly on one side.

Steve, Tony, and Bucky make their way toward the jet as Natasha steps out. She waits for them to join her before she says loudly over the noise of the jet, “Nice to have you back, Rogers!”

“Good to be back!” Steve replies with a grin. 

She gives Bucky a wary look before heading toward the back of the jet where the hatch lays open on the grassy ground. Sam is inside accompanied by a man Bucky doesn’t recognize. Steve must because as they make their way inside, the two shake hands and say something that’s lost to Bucky’s ears in all the noise of the jet’s engines.

“Take a seat, gentlemen!” Natasha shouts from the cockpit. “We’re goin’ home.”

From outside the hatch, Tony stands at attention, salutes Steve, and takes off. Bucky licks his lips and sits in one of the many seats against the wall, close to Steve but not next to him.

  


* * *

  


“All good?” Steve asks, and his hand on the small of Bucky’s back is enough to send a strange chill up his spine.

Bucky breathes out slowly, calming himself as he stares at the door from the heliport that leads into Stark Tower. The last two times he’d been here, it had been under more difficult circumstances. His hesitation must show, because Steve stops and tells the others to go ahead inside.

“You don’t have to stay,” Steve says, and although he sounds sincere, Bucky can see the slight frown that means he wishes Bucky _would_ stay.

“Okay,” Bucky says.

“But I’d like it if you would,” Steve continues. “Stay, I mean. Just… give it a try? I think we can help you.”

Bucky ruminates on that. He needs help, he’s not damaged enough to think everything’s perfect, but there’s still that hesitation to accept help from these complete strangers. He doesn’t know them, hasn’t vetted them, and yet that intrinsic trust he has in Steve seems to trump all those stupid protocols. If Steve trusts them, it must be okay, right? 

Jesus, that’s stupid.

Steve’s watching him like he might turn and run right then and maybe he should. He’s in too deep already, he feels _domesticated_ and that’s dangerous. 

But progress is progress, so he walks toward the door of Stark Tower, Steve close at his heels.

Bucky steels himself for the feeling of walls on all sides and people he doesn’t recognize, but he isn’t prepared when they step through the door and an alarm blares, loud and shrieking. Bucky tenses and scans the room immediately while Steve’s hands fly to ears to cover the noise. There’s no immediate threat, but that means very little. Bucky wishes he had a gun. He also wishes his left arm worked, but he’ll deal with that later. Right now he has to focus on the danger at hand. Which is… What’s the danger?

Stark reappears, saying something and waving his hand. Finally, the alarm is cut off and Steve lets go of his head to send Stark a questioning look.

“Jarvis detected something,” Stark explains, coming to a stop before Steve.

“Something? What kind of something?” Steve asks.

“Unidentified technology is prohibited in Stark Tower without express permission from Mr. Stark or Miss Potts,” Jarvis intones lightly.

“Technology? I don’t have any technology,” Steve says. “Hydra took everything from us when we were captured.”

“The device is not on your person, sir,” Jarvis replies. “It is inside of you.”

Bucky’s stomach drops and he focuses his attention on Steve. Steve, instead of looking terrified, like he _should be_ , looks slightly confused.

“Sorry, what?” Steve asks.

“Let’s get to my lab and see what’s going on,” Stark says. “Jarvis, alert Bruce. He’s gonna wanna be in on this. And his dear lady friend, too. Actually, belay that. Lady friend should see to Robocop first, I think.” Stark exchanges a look with Steve and Steve nods once. 

Bucky’s temper rises, but he bites his tongue. “No. I’m going with you,” he says instead.

“I’m fine,” Steve replies seriously, turning to face Bucky.

“Unidentified technology _in your body_ doesn’t sound fine,” Bucky replies sharply.

Steve clenches his jaw but Bucky holds his own. But he knows how stubborn Steve can be, so he tries for logic instead: “My arm is broken,” Bucky states, turning to Stark. “Can you fix it?”

Stark’s eyebrows lift but he nods once. “Yeah, sure. I mean, Cap’s got priority, obviously, but Bruce can take a look while I deal with Unidentified Technology.”

“Fine,” Bucky says and sends a glare Steve’s way before following Stark to the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice lil flashback for ya there.
> 
> And Bucky being a mother hen is everything 2 me


	20. Chapter 20

Steve should’ve known Hydra could outsmart him. They’d been doing it for decades, after all. When Betty cuts into his neck and pulls out the tiniest piece of metal on the planet, Steve feels nauseous. It's like he’s full of them, like he’s being prodded and watched and – well, this is probably a fraction of what Bucky feels on a regular basis, so maybe he should suck it up.

Bucky is sitting several yards away, on a stool as close to the door of Tony’s lab as he can get without actually leaving. Bruce is tapping away at something inside of his left arm while Bucky’s eyes are trained on Steve. 

Betty tapes some gauze on the wound and Steve thanks her. Betty hands over the metal piece in a Petri dish to Tony whose eyes light up. He gleefully places it under what Steve mistakes as a microscope. In moments, a translucent, 3-D scanned image appears, about five feet big in front of Tony. 

“Nanotechnology is so 2008,” Tony says. “But I gotta hand it to ‘em, this is pretty amazing.”

“Can you please just tell me if I’m gonna die?” Steve asks, only half-joking.

“You’re in the clear if this does what I think it does. You know, I actually made something just like this a few years ago? I gotta run a few tests, but…” Tony swipes his hand to the side and the translucent image expands even further, pieces flying apart. Tony mumbles something, which Steve takes as his cue to stop asking questions and wait for the no doubt convoluted answer.

He makes his way over to Bucky who swallows hard as Steve gets nearer. Steve’s eyes trail down Bucky’s arm and then to his chest, his abdomen, the line between his third and fourth rib where a delicate white scar is, clear as day. Then he looks Bucky in the eye.

“All good?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs his right shoulder. “Can’t feel a thing, so yeah. Good.”

Steve pulls up a stool across from Bucky. Bruce licks his lips in concentration and then sighs, pulling back. “The wires are completely shot. We’ll have to replace them individually. Shouldn’t take more than a few hours.”

Steve watches as Bucky’s eyes dart around the laboratory and the slight frown on his lips.

“Better idea!” Tony calls from across the lab. “I got a lot done while you two were on your honeymoon.”

“He didn’t sleep,” Bruce says, pushing his glasses up his face so he can rub his eyes.

“Why sleep when you can create _this_?” Tony pulls something out from a shelf and it looks – well, it looks like a human arm. He makes his way over to the group, Betty close at his heels looking dubiously at the arm. Tony tosses it lightly to Steve who catches it with a frown. 

God, it even _feels_ real. And it looks like Bucky’s real arm. The musculature is so incredibly similar and the skin tone is right. 

Steve tries to hand it to Bucky, but he’s taken aback by the look of pure fury on his face. “Bucky?”

“I don’t want that,” Bucky says, his voice surprisingly even.

The room grows quiet. “Uh,” Tony says, stepping forward and taking the arm from Steve. “While trying not to be completely offended, let me explain how it works before you-“

“No,” Bucky cuts in, sharp and cold.

“But it’s-!”

“Tony,” Steve says evenly. “We can talk about this later.”

Tony frowns. “Yeah, all right.”

“Let’s just fix the arm he has,” Steve continues. He studies Bucky’s face closely, but then Bucky ducks his head and glares at his lap.

  


* * *

  


They’re an hour and a half into rebooting the arm when it happens. Bucky watches Steve pull a strip of paper out of his breast pocket. There’s the familiar and dull pressure on Bucky’s left shoulder and then it’s like a thousand bolts of lightning straight down his arm. He stifles his cry, but lashes out, seeing red and unable to distinguish the shouting voices around him.

When the pain subsides, he’s on the tiled floor of Stark’s lab, clutching his arm. Steve is there by his side with a death grip on his right arm that loosens as Bucky’s breathing slows.

“Bucky?” Steve breathes. “Hey, are you okay?”

Bucky doesn’t have enough energy to reply, so he settles for sitting up instead. It makes his head spin and – wait a second, he’s using his left arm. He flexes it but there’s a disconnect. He can’t feel it. That shouldn’t be unusual; it’s metal, after all, but he’s become so accustomed to the numb sort of touch the arm contains, that feeling nothing is strange.

“What happened?” Bucky croaks. And why is his voice raw?

“’Fraid that was me,” Stark says and Bucky looks up past where Steve is crouched next to him. Stark is there, as is Doctor Ross, but Bruce is nowhere to be seen. “Should’ve assumed the arm would want to play catch up when we replaced the wiring.” Stark gives him a half-shrug. It should anger Bucky, but again, he’s just too tired.

“We’re taking a break,” Steve tells Bucky and for some reason that’s what gets Bucky going again.

“No,” Bucky says immediately. He looks back at Stark. “Finish the arm.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” Stark says carefully.

“I’m not asking,” Bucky retorts and he’d probably be a lot more convincing if he weren’t sitting on the floor. He stands and pushes away Steve’s hand when he offers it. That’s when he sees that the lab is _destroyed_. It certainly hadn’t been anywhere near clean before, but it looks like a damn tornado ripped through, leaving no evidence behind, except what’s that pain in Bucky’s right hand? He looks down and sees the blood before he feels it. A sharp cut and a couple more on his arm. As if he’d been in a fight. Or maybe wrecked a lab? 

But he doesn’t remember any of that.

“Did I-?” Bucky asks quietly and his hand reaches out for Steve automatically. It finds purchase on his arm.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “You don’t remember?”

Bucky shakes his head. “No,” he says. “How long?”

“Ten minutes? Fifteen, maybe?” Steve answers. “No one blames you for-“

“Maybe you should.” Bucky doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but it’s too late now. And Steve gives him that withering look like he always does whenever Bucky is self-deprecating.

“You thought you were back in a Hydra base,” Steve explains. “You didn’t hurt anyone.”

“Not this time.”

Steve frowns at that, but he knows it’s true. And if he doesn’t, Bucky will make him know it. He’s dangerous. Even if Steve thinks he can fix him or whatever pipe dream he’s chasing now, that’s all it is. It’s pointless. And Bucky has hurt enough people as it is. He’ll run away and this time he won’t stick around to-

Warm hands pull him back, pressing lightly on either side of his neck. Steve is so close, Bucky can smell him: sweat and something minty. Bucky’s chest tightens at the familiarity. “Stay with me, Buck,” Steve breathes so the others in the lab – where did they go? – can’t hear him. “Don’t leave.”

And Bucky knows he’s not just talking about his mental state.

  


* * *

  


Steve convinces Bucky to hold off on fixing the arm for a later time and they head to the upper levels. Bucky looks so worn, Steve forgoes the shared space and heads straight to his own floor. Sam’s shoes still sit haphazardly against the wall by the door.

“I meant what I said,” Steve says, rubbing at the gauze on his neck. “You can leave at any time. I’ve learned my lesson. Keeping you trapped is… well, it’s counterproductive. So.” He swallows awkwardly when Bucky doesn’t reply right away. “Um. Just… tell me? If you’re going to leave?” Steve asks weakly.

“I’m not leaving,” Bucky says, but that’s all Steve gets. It’s enough for now. Steve walks farther down the hall to the room at the end. Bucky follows him inside. 

“You’re welcome to this room. Unless you want the other. I can ask Sam to leave – he won’t mind. Or you could probably have a whole floor to yourself if you really wanted.”

“This is fine,” Bucky says. He’s so emotionless, Steve almost prefers the bitter anger to this. 

“Right. Should I… leave you alone?”

“I…” Bucky trails off. 

“This is going to be good,” Steve says, desperate to believe it himself. “The people here – they’ll understand better than anyone out there. Trust me.”

Bucky turns to face Steve, eyebrows pinched together and a slight frown on his face. “I do,” he says and it’s just about the best thing Steve’s ever heard.

  


* * *

  


Now that Jarvis’ security protocols have been updated to include Metal Arms Flying At High Velocity Toward Bulletproof Glass, Steve is a little bit more at ease sitting in the common room with the rest of the Avengers.

Clint is back from wherever he’d been (something about Los Angeles and a girl named Kate? Steve only caught the tail end of the conversation between him and Natasha). Natasha, Betty, Bruce, and Sam are all there as well. The only person they’re missing is Tony, but Steve can start without him; he’d rather get upstairs in case Bucky needs him.

So Steve relates the story – everything from Poleznym waking him up to that same kidnapper helping them escape. He skips over the kisses – both of them. They’re not relevant and he’d hate to answer more questions than needed. 

Natasha looks like she knows he’s skipped some crucial detail, but then again, that’s how she always looks – like she’s scanning your soul for discrepancies. 

“We’ll know more about what Hydra was planning when Stark gets back with the info on that nanobot,” Natasha says when Steve finally finishes speaking. “Until then, you look like shit warmed over. Go to sleep.”

Steve doesn’t know it until it doesn’t happen, but he was expecting some sympathy for Poleznym. No, he was expecting a _rescue mission_ for Poleznym. How’s that for crazy? But Steve’s not certain the guy is dead and if he isn’t? He’s being tortured and it’s Steve’s fault. That knowledge – as improbable as it is – haunts him. 

That’s when Tony finally joins them, though he’s unusually quiet after he relays that he’s still running tests on the Unidentified Technology.

“If there’s nothing else, I should head back upstairs,” Steve says, standing up. The others say good night and Steve heads for the elevator. Tony blocks his path.

“Cap. Got a minute?” he asks. His eyes are wide and usually that means trouble, but there’s something about his expression that seems almost earnest and sincere, if that’s possible.

“Yeah. Everything okay?” Steve asks, stepping to the side, out of sight of the others.

“Yep. Yeah. Everything’s great. I, um, found this.” Tony holds up a slip of paper and Steve instantly feels his heartbeat quicken.

He takes the strip of photos from Tony’s hand and swallows. “I left it downstairs,” Steve recalls. He had just found them shoved carelessly in his front pocket when Bucky had freaked out. “Poleznym,” Steve realizes suddenly. “He must’ve given ‘em to me just before he…” Steve frowns at the strip of photos, rubbing his thumb unconsciously over Bucky’s face in the last frame.

“Right. Well, none of my business.” Tony stares at the photos in Steve’s hand and Steve grows red in spite of himself. “You and the sergeant, huh?” Tony finally asks, a little grin pulling at the side of his mouth.

“Don’t tell the others,” Steve says quickly, pathetically, because he’s ashamed or… something. He doesn’t know.

Tony puts his hands up. “Not a word. Just you and me. And Jarvis. And probably Pepper, but honestly that’s it and she won’t tell a soul.” Tony thinks for a moment. “What about Bruce?”

“Tony,” Steve pleads.

“Kidding!” Tony replies. “Seriously. You know, no one would judge you, right? Although it _is_ sort of hilarious considering how much of a ladies’ man my dad thought you were. Wait. What about that Carter girl? I thought-“

“I’m not having this conversation,” Steve says.

It’s something of a miracle, but Tony gets the picture and drops the subject. “Have a good night, _playah_ ,” he says and walks back into the room.

Steve steps out of the elevator onto his floor, making noise so as not to startle Bucky. He busies himself by tidying the kitchen, which is really just rearranging things on the kitchen bar because Sam keeps the place spotless. Then the silence is too much and he goes to Bucky’s room.

The door is open, but Steve knocks anyway. Bucky is sitting on the edge of the bed with a book in his hands – a photo album. Steve recognizes it as the one from his room.

“I don’t know these people,” Bucky says, not looking up at Steve. Steve steps forward and sits next to Bucky on the bed, making sure to leave room between them.

“I shouldn’t think so,” Steve replies. “That’s my extended family. You never met them. I think that’s my great aunt?” Steve points to a woman in a fur coat. “Her kids and husband. I don’t even remember their names.”

Bucky seems to relax at that, which means Steve’s suspicions were right: Bucky thought he’d been missing some important memory.

“Um, here, may I?” Steve asks, holding his hands out for the book. Bucky passes it over and Steve flips through. “This is one of the few items the Smithsonian let me have back,” Steve adds, turning pages in search of a specific image. “I let ‘em keep most of it. Not much I could do with a thousand baseball cards, anyway. Here.” Steve hands the book back and points at a photo. It’s blurry, but only because everyone in the photo is laughing so hard.

A woman, tall and fair with wide blue eyes is holding onto the slim shoulders of a young boy – Steve. Next to her is a straight-laced man attempting to wrangle a dark-haired young boy who has attached himself to the side of the blonde with an ear-to-ear grin.

“Your family?” Bucky says.

“And you,” Steve says, pointing at the little brunette boy. “I was only five. You were six. Our neighbor got one of those fancy new cameras and offered to take a family portrait.”

“We were friends for a long time,” Bucky says.

“Yeah. We met in school. I got bullied a lot and you saved my ass more than once.”

“Quit stickin’ your nose in places it don’t belong, Rogers.”

Steve’s eyes grow wide as he stares at Bucky, but Bucky doesn’t even seem to realize he’s spoken. He closes the album and passes it back to Steve. “I’m tired,” he says.

“Right. You should sleep. I’m right next door if you need anything.”

Bucky doesn’t reply, doesn’t even look up at Steve before he leaves. Steve pushes the album back into its place on his bookshelf and frowns. There’s more room on the shelf than there should be. Steve eyes the books – most of them contemporary novels about politics and social movements Sam suggested. Nothing seems out of place except – _shit_. 

Steve bursts into Bucky’s room. “Bucky, did you-?” He stops short when he sees the sketchbook lying open on Bucky’s lap in the middle of the bed.

“How did you get these?” Bucky asks, running the tips of his fingers over the aged paper.

“I drew them,” Steve says carefully.

Bucky shakes his head. “How? I never…” He grows quiet and Steve waits. He waits for an agonizingly long time. “How?” Bucky asks again, his voice harder than before. “ _How_ did you get these?” He looks up at Steve and he’s _furious_ , his eyes hard and glaring.

“I- I drew them,” Steve stammers out. “I didn’t-“ He stops short as Bucky launches himself off the bed and backs Steve against the wall, a finger pointed at his chest.

“When?” Bucky demands. “Why would I-? You-?” 

Steve waits because he knows what question comes next and it’s one he’s not exactly prepared to answer. But that question doesn’t come. Instead, Bucky says, “I wasn’t sure it was real.”

“Not sure what was real?” Steve asks as calmly as he can.

Bucky licks his lips and drops his hand, but he doesn’t step back and suddenly Steve feels just how incredibly close they are. All he’d have to do is move a few inches forward and…

“Get out.”

The words cut deep, but Steve obliges. He sidesteps Bucky and stands by the door for a moment. “If you need anything-“

“Get out,” Bucky says again, staring evenly at Steve.

Steve puts up both hands before stepping out and closing the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made some slight changes in the previous chapter regarding Steve's asthma, as pointed out by a lovely commenter. Asthma didn't exist from a medical standpoint; it was seen as psychosomatic and would've been treated with talk therapy, etc. I read and reblogged this [amazing post](http://castiowl.tumblr.com/post/89566427150/chronically-ill-steve-rogers) ages ago and it's really an incredible read discussing Steve's canonical disabilities and how difficult his life would've been growing up in the 20s and 30s. 
> 
> That being said, I'm basing this on the MCU and given what the OP says in that well-researched post, what happens in The First Avenger basically couldn't have happened. I mean, Steve spent (how long?) at boot camp, training to be a soldier. Running laps and climbing walls and shit. So I'm assuming his asthma is lot less severe than most people think, which is why hiking in the Catskills isn't a death sentence for him. Obviously shit happens, and I'm sure Bucky is more than qualified to stifle the anxiety that comes with asthma attacks. 
> 
> At any rate, things have been fixed for historical accuracy's sake. And thank you, as always, for commenting and givin' kudos and generally being some awesome readers.
> 
> Steve needs to learn to keep his sketches someplace where unsuspecting brainwashed assassins can't find them. Like under the mattress.


	21. Chapter 21

_Steve made another exasperated noise – the fifth one in twenty minutes, which meant he was doing his art homework._

_“Need help, pal?” Bucky asked lazily from where he was laying on their bed, taking up the whole of it. Steve sat on their ratty couch, slouched over the sketchbook in his lap, tongue sticking out in concentration._

_Steve grunted a response and Bucky sighed, rolled off the bed, and shuffled over. He sat on the other side of the couch and watched Steve for a moment._

_“What’re you drawing?” Bucky asked._

_“I’ve got no idea,” Steve said angrily before shutting the sketchbook and tossing it on the coffee table in front of him. He crossed his arms over his thin chest and glared straight ahead._

_Bucky rolled his eyes. “Don’t get so worked up,” he said. “It’s just a drawing.”_

_Steve frowned deeply, which meant Bucky had said exactly the wrong thing. “It’s a drawing that’ll make or break my grade for the entire semester, but yeah, you’re right. It’s_ just a drawing _.”_

_“Aw, c’mon, Steve. You know I didn’t mean it like that.” Bucky turned and crawled over to Steve on the couch. “Look, I’ll help. If I can. What do you have to draw?”_

_“Anything.”_

_“Anything?”_

_“Anything.”_

_“Well, that’s easy, then,” Bucky said._

_Steve made another exasperated noise. “It’s not_ easy _. It’s the hardest project we’ve had all year! Anything?! How can I decide what to draw when the criterion is_ anything _?!”_

_“All right, all right,” Bucky said, holding his hands up placatingly. “Well, what’ve you got so far?” He reached for the sketchbook and opened up to the last page with a drawing. It’s a mostly crossed-out picture of a tree._

_“It’s a nice tree,” Bucky said._

_“I’m screwed,” Steve muttered into his hands._

_“So screw the tree,” Bucky said, tossing the book back on the table. “What’re you best at drawing?”_

_Steve groaned and Bucky knew it was because Steve hated talking highly about his work, but Bucky wouldn’t go down without a fight. “I guess people. When we have models come in? That’s when I get the most praise I guess,” Steve admitted._

_“Okay, people. Well, we could go to the park and people watch,” Bucky suggested._

_“It’s November, Buck. At night. Unless you want me to catch my death.”_

_“Not particularly. Okay. Well, then you’re stuck with me.”_

_“You?”_

_“What, I’m not pretty enough for your art class?” Bucky asked, feigning offense._

_Steve rolled his eyes, clearly not falling for it. “It’ll take a few hours, Buck. You should be in bed already. It’s 8 o’clock and you have work in the morning.”_

_“And your drawing is due tomorrow?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Then you’d better get started.”_

_“Bucky,” Steve protested, but Bucky was already lifting his shirt over his head. “Wait, what are you doing?”_

_Bucky paused with his hand on his belt. “Uh, this is usually done naked, right?”_

_“Well, yeah, but…” Steve stared at Bucky’s bare chest, his cheeks already pink. It didn’t matter that Bucky had said and done a hundred dirtier, nastier things to Steve, the guy always acted like a damn blushing virgin. Bucky had a sneaking suspicion that Steve’s embarrassment came less from the acts of overt sexuality and more from the fact that they were being aimed toward him. Like he didn’t deserve the attention. Which is why Bucky made it his mission to woo Steve every chance he got._

_This was not actually one of those times, and after a few moments, Steve finally got off the couch and grabbed a different sketchbook from the shelf over their dining room table. Bucky recognized it as the new one he’d bought Steve a month ago._

_“Naked or no?” Bucky asked._

_Steve pushed a stool across from the couch. “May as well,” Steve conceded and Bucky grinned, stripping down quickly._

_It was a lot colder than Bucky had thought it would be. And he felt more exposed than normal. He’d been naked any number of times around Steve, even before they were together, but this was something else. This was a chance for Steve to discover every flaw Bucky had and probably go running for the door._

_Surprisingly, Steve stayed and drew. At first his blush just deepened until all Bucky saw was a beet-red forehead above a sketchpad. Then gradually he got better, more focused, and the tell-tale sign of his tongue poking out finally told Bucky that Steve was completely lost in his work._

_“You can move now,” Steve said about an hour later, wiping his hand on his pant legs and sticking his pencil behind his ear._

_“You’re done already?” Bucky asked._

_“No, but I’ve got the preliminary sketch down so we can take a break.”_

_“How ‘m I doing?” Bucky asked, sitting up on the couch and stretching._

_“Best model ever. Could do it professionally,” Steve said and Bucky couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not._

_Twenty minutes later and they were back at it, Bucky stretched across the couch watching Steve draw him. His strokes were quick and experienced, his slim hands controlling the pencil like he was born to do it. Bucky found it so incredibly beautiful, the way Steve’s face scrunched up in concentration when he drew, like he was trying to paint the Mona Lisa or something._

_“Um, Buck?” Steve said, amusement in his voice._

_“Yeah?” Bucky asked._

_Steve raised his eyebrows. Bucky followed Steve’s eyes down to where he was looking at Bucky’s-_ oh _._

_It was Bucky’s turn to blush this time, deep and red so he could feel it on his chest too. Steve looked delighted._

_“I can’t help it when you look the way you do with your stupid pencil and-“_

_“You like it when I hold my pencil?” Steve teased._

_“Aw, shut up, Rogers,” Bucky mumbled, turning his head to bury it in the couch._

_“All right, just hold it together for twenty more minutes,” Steve said and he went back to drawing._

_Bucky thought he could hold it together for twenty minutes. His body had other ideas. And not ten minutes later his cock was standing at full attention._

_Steve actually snickered, the little demon, and Bucky groaned. “You basically told me not to think about sex, so what the hell did you expect me to do?” Bucky snapped._

_Steve laughed then. “Think about dead puppies or something,” Steve said, continuing to draw._

_“Yeah, not helping.”_

_Bucky watched as Steve got closer to the drawing, filling in details and erasing precise marks. He shifted on his stool._

_“Uncomfortable?” Bucky asked innocently._

_Steve’s eyes snapped up to look at Bucky, then looked back down without answering. Bucky slowly brought his hand down and took hold of his cock, reveling in the feel of the pressure. Bucky stroked himself lazily until Steve finally looked back and grew red again._

_“What are you doing?” Steve asked._

_Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Best way to get rid of it is to, well,_ get rid of it _,” he pointed out._

_Steve whimpered and Bucky smiled devilishly at him. “It’d go faster if I had some help,” Bucky added. He rubbed the slit with his thumb and couldn’t help the groan that escaped him, eyes closed and mouth opening slightly._

_“Jesus,” Steve breathed and Bucky watched as Steve tossed the sketchbook to the ground and made his way to the couch, pulling his shirt over his head as he did so. He climbed on top of Bucky and kissed him hard. Bucky was happy to note Steve’s own hard-on in his pants. Bucky helped Steve out of his trousers. He touched Steve all over, running his hands up and down his sides and back before finally settling a hand in his hair, pulling just enough to make Steve moan into Bucky’s mouth._

_Steve’s cock was already hard and slick with pre-come and he pushed Bucky’s legs back. Steve bent over and searched for their not-so-hidden jar of Vaseline under the couch. Bucky watched in pure lust as Steve stroked himself with the lubricant before pushing in, slow and practiced._

_“Fuck, Steve,” Bucky breathed, letting his head fall back. He could never quite get used to the feeling of fullness Steve gave him. It was so damn_ good _. Steve pulled out and pushed back in again, this time bottoming out and leaning forward to kiss Bucky with an open mouth. Their tongues slipped together and Bucky tried not to whine when Steve pulled back again._

_Steve picked up the pace, breathing becoming stuttered and ragged with each thrust. He kept one hand on the couch and the other pushing back Bucky’s hair, held up by bony elbows. Bucky gasped when Steve leaned back to thrust in, hitting that sweet spot that had Bucky seeing stars. Steve huffed and hit it again and again until it was all Bucky could do to hold on. But then it was too much and he came, spilling over himself with a muffled cry. Steve thrust a few more times as Bucky watched him, marveled at the way his eyes were blown black and the way his cheeks and chest grew blotchy. The look of pure ecstasy when he came, pulling out and stroking himself over Bucky until he was done, could’ve singlehandedly made Bucky come twice if he weren’t still coming down from his high._

_Steve heaved in heavy breaths and Bucky watched carefully. Steve was always too embarrassed to take it slow (or maybe just too thickheaded – jury’s out) and that meant trouble if they weren’t careful. He collapsed next to, but mostly on top of, Bucky on the couch and let out a breath. His breathing eventually evened out and Bucky wrapped his arm around Steve’s neck. He kissed him on the temple._

_“You should draw me naked more often,” Bucky said._

_“Not if I want to actually get any work done,” Steve replied, turning to look at Bucky._

_God, Bucky loved him. There was a familiar pang of sadness to that thought, that he couldn’t share Steve with the rest of the world, at least not like this. And he didn’t particularly want to, but at some point Steve would want more. He’d want something_ real _and Bucky wasn’t qualified to give that to him. He’d conceded to that inevitable future a long time ago, though, so he put it out of his mind for the time being._

_“You want to finish your drawing?” Bucky asked._

_Steve shrugged. “No point. I can’t turn it in.”_

_Bucky frowned slightly. “Why not?”_

_“Hi Professing Whitting. Here’s my art project. What’s that? Oh yeah, that’s just my roommate lying naked on our couch. No, we’re just really close. Absolutely platonic. We’re like brothers, really. No, the fact that I fucked him into next week right after I drew this is completely irrelevant.”_

_Bucky laughed. “All right, okay, no turning in weird nude drawing to your teacher. But you have no project to turn in tomorrow.”_

_Steve sighed and sat up, Bucky following suit. “I’ll just put some clothes on you. It’ll be fine.”_

_“You sure?” Bucky asked._

_Steve turned and kissed him. “Positive,” he said with a smile._

_“Can I see it before you ruin it?” Bucky asked as Steve went over to pick up the abandoned sketchbook._

_Steve gave Bucky a sly little smile before handing it over._

_“You’re a little punk, you know that?” Bucky said indignantly, staring down at the drawing. It was a good sketch, the lines so precise and it really did look like Bucky._

_Including the raging boner Bucky had in the picture._

_Steve burst into laughter. “I couldn’t help it. How often will I get the chance to draw_ that _?”_

_Bucky handed back the sketchbook and smiled. “Hopefully more often,” Bucky replied._

  


* * *

  


Steve opens his door early the next morning and almost steps on the sketchbook lying on the ground just in front of his door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just imagine for a second forgetting who you are and finding naked pictures of yourself as one hot bro.


	22. Chapter 22

After a week of cold shoulders and glowering from Bucky, Steve is beginning to think that Bucky might never forgive him. Not that there’s really anything to forgive. Steve doesn’t feel guilty about the drawings, just that Bucky had to see them. 

It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Bucky locking himself away all day can’t be good for his health, and he needs help, even if it doesn’t come straight from Steve. 

So Steve turns to Sam because Sam is far more capable than Steve ever could be, despite his protests. But asking Sam for help means having to give an explanation as to _why_ Bucky is acting the way he is. Steve thinks he can skirt around it, but then Sam isn’t easily skirted around.

“What’d you do?” Sam asks, raising an eyebrow. 

Steve is a terrible liar. He’s been told that on a number of occasions and that’s fine; he’d much rather tell the hard truth than a lie any day. Except today. Today he’d like to be able to lie.

Steve sighs and rubs the back of his neck. “He sort of… saw something.”

Sam continues to stare at Steve until he elaborates.

“Something bad. Wait, not bad!” Steve corrects quickly. “Not bad. Just… confusing? I don’t know how to explain this.”

“How about in English?” Sam quips.

Steve leans back into the plush armchair in his small living room and bites the inside of his cheek. Now or never, he supposes.

“I have a sketchbook,” Steve says slowly. “And it’s… well, let me start from the beginning. When I got out of the ice-“

“You really meant the beginning,” Sam interjects.

“Just listen. It’ll make sense,” Steve insists and Sam smiles.

“A couple months after I got out, I received a letter. It was from the granddaughter of Rebecca Barnes – Bucky’s sister. When I’d left for the war, all my stuff – all of _our_ stuff was put into storage in a little place in Brooklyn. Not exactly high security, but who’d wanna steal a bunch of crap from two punks anyway? Well, after I got into Project Rebirth, it became clear I may not make it home again. 

“I sent a letter to the Barnes family. And I told them that if anything were to happen and if neither of us made it home, all of that crap was theirs. It was a logistical thing at the time; I never thought it’d actually matter.

“But then I get this letter, 70 years later, saying that that shit is still being kept in a storage unit in Queens and it’s been passed down for all those years and they never even touched it. I mean, any one of those cracked pieces of furniture could’ve gone for thousands after having been owned by _Captain America_ ,” Steve says with a roll of his eyes. “But they didn’t touch any of it.”

“Damn,” Sam says.

“Yeah. So the letter was – it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I got to meet Rebecca’s family; she passed away several years ago, but these people were so incredible. And I got to check out the storage unit, of course. Most of it was junk, just like I remembered. Furniture that I eventually donated to various museums because they like that crap for some reason. But there were other things, too.”

“Like a sketchbook?” Sam guesses.

“Like a sketchbook full of drawings I’d done of Bucky,” Steve corrects. He feels the heat in his face and looks down.

Sam frowns. “What does it matter if you drew pictures of-?” Sam stops short and Steve looks up at him. “Wait a second,” Sam says slowly.

“Yeah,” Steve says.

“Are you tellin’ me-?”

“Yeah.”

“These pictures you drew were-?”

“Compromising,” Steve says at the same time Sam says, “Pornographic.”

“Jesus, Sam!”

“Are you denying it?”

“No, but… _Hell._ ”

“So, Bucky saw these- I’m sorry, I just gotta ask. Peggy Carter?”

Steve rubs his forehead and gives Sam a withering look. “Can we do this later?”

“Fine, fine. So Bucky happens upon your pornographic- Sorry, _compromising_ sketches and freaks?”

“No. I mean, yes. But not… It’s not like he was upset about what they were, more like… that they happened in the first place. Because he didn’t remember. He asked _how_ I drew them.”

“And you didn’t tell him?”

“No, I didn’t tell him that 80 years ago I used to have him strip naked in our apartment in Brooklyn under the pretense of me _drawing him_. How’s that supposed to sound?”

“Like what it is,” Sam replies.

“Which is?”

“How the hell would I know? Fun? Love? You tell me.”

Steve sighs. “Love. Maybe. Probably. I don’t know, we never talked about it. It just… _was_. Since I was 17 we’d been… together. God, do we really have to talk about this?”

“If it helps figure out what’s going on with Bucky, yeah,” Sam said.

Steve runs a hand down his face. “Peggy was amazing. Still is,” Steve adds. “And when I was with her, I felt like I was actually worth something beyond my physical capabilities. She liked me. She knew me before the serum, y’know? And she always made me feel like… Well, exactly like Bucky had always made me feel. Like she could see right through me and make me a better person just by bein’ around me. I respected her. And maybe I loved her. 

“I guess I probably did,” Steve amends thoughtfully. “And I’m a terrible person for it, too, I know that.”

“Whoa, slow down there,” Sam interrupts. “What’s so bad about havin’ a crush on an awesome lady?”

“Because I was still in love with Bucky!” Steve says, exasperated. “He wasn’t there at first and maybe that’s why I… But it shouldn’t matter. You can’t be in love with two different people. It’s not right.”

Sam gives Steve a pitying look. “Actually you can. Man, you can’t help who you love! How you act on those feelings is what matters. Did you ever talk to Bucky about Peggy?”

“Yeah, of course. But he was…” Steve thinks back to the conversation and remembers it like yesterday. “He told me I should be happy, that Peggy was who I’d been waiting for my whole life.”

“And how’d you feel about that?”

“Did you just ask how that made me feel?” Steve asks with a small smile.

Sam laughs. “Yeah, I did. And I’m standing by it.”

Steve huffs. “Well, bad, I guess.”

“Why bad?”

“Jesus, I don’t know! Because… Bucky didn’t care. It was like the past 20 years of our friendship didn’t matter. How could he be so willing to give it all up?”

“Did you ever think maybe he was being selfless? Letting you move on with someone who you could be open with? I mean, I’m going on history books here, but homosexuality wasn’t exactly kosher, was it?”

“Hardly,” Steve says. “The only people who knew were the Howling Commandos, and we never told them. They just sort of…”

“Figured it out?”

“Yeah.” Steve bites his lip. “Look, none of this matters.”

“Nah, don’t even try,” Sam says, putting a hand up. “Your emotional wellbeing is just as important to me, got it? Now, you were with Peggy. Did you ever talk to Peggy about Bucky?”

“Not about… what we did. But she knew. Peggy and I never… slept together. We weren’t even together most of the war. And before that we sort of had a falling out. It was a mess. And maybe that’s why Bucky and I…”

“You kept sleeping together?” Sam guesses and Steve feels the familiar drop of guilt in his stomach as he nods. “But you said she knew about you and Barnes,” Sam points out.

“She did. But that doesn’t mean she was okay with what we were doing.”

“Did she say she wasn’t?” Sam asks.

“Not explicitly. Well, not at all, I guess. But it still felt _wrong_.”

Sam thinks for a long moment before leaning forward and steepling his fingers. “Is she still mad?”

“What?” Steve asks, taken aback. “Of course not! She moved on, got married, had kids.”

“Okay, then why does it matter? She’s forgiven you, assuming there was anything to be forgiven in the first place. So there’s no point in killing yourself over it now. So why do you?”

Steve closes his eyes briefly. “I don’t know,” he says finally. 

“Peggy is still alive, you know,” Sam points out. “Just go and ask her.”

It’s not something Steve hasn’t thought about a million times before. Almost every time he’s gone to visit Peggy, he’s thought about bringing Bucky up, asking her if she really knew the whole story and if she cared. But her health is failing and putting all that stress on her would be cruel.

“I’m gonna send you something later,” Sam says when Steve doesn’t reply. “But for now, let’s get back on track. Bucky’s uncomfortable about these drawings of him?”

“Uncomfortable? I don’t know. I don’t. I wish I did. I wish he’d just talk to me.”

“Want me to try?”

Steve frowns slightly. “You’d do that?”

“Did it before the shit hit the fan, didn’t I? And guy seemed to tolerate and/or like me.”

“That would be really great, Sam,” Steve says sincerely. “Thank you.”

  


* * *

  


Steve is paging through the unnecessary apps that same night on his StarkPad when he gets an email alert. It’s from Sam. Steve glances up, but Natasha and Clint are fully focused on the foreign action film playing on the big-screen television.

Steve opens the email. Inside are three unassuming links. The first is a Wikipedia page about polyamory. When the page opens, Steve makes a choking noise that doesn’t go unheard by Natasha who glances over, one perfect eyebrow raised.

“Problem, Rogers?” Natasha asks.

“Nope.” Steve clears his throat and tries to smile calmly. Natasha narrows her eyes at him, but sets her attention on the TV again.

Steve reads the entry, cheeks growing redder with every second. It’s not a particularly sexual entry (in fact, it repeats several times that sex is only a fraction of what a polyamorous relationship consists of), but Steve’s mind wanders. Assuming he takes the hint that Sam is not-so-subtly giving him – that Steve is equipped for a polyamorous relationship – it’s easy to take the next step and wonder what that might have been like.

Peggy _and_ Bucky.

Steve closes the window and looks at the next link. It’s of a similar ilk, a bunch of FAQs concerning the practice and is it really true that there are 500,000 practicing members in the U.S. alone?

Steve closes that window and sighs. And finds that he feels better. He’s nowhere near admitting he _wants_ a relationship with more than one person, but the idea that it’s possible and that maybe his mutual love for Peggy and Bucky hadn’t been totally selfish is a great relief.

Steve clicks the third link. Bisexuality? Well, that’s new. Or maybe Steve’s heard it before but never cared enough to research it. He swallows the uncomfortable feeling in his gut and reads the Wikipedia article. 

Steve closes the window and frowns slightly. Sam is handing him a label, but he’s not sure he wants it or really needs it. It’s comforting, once again, to know he’s not alone. And that solidarity allows him to validate his feelings for both Peggy and Bucky, but he can’t imagine introducing himself as _bisexual_. It seems clinical and technical and not very… pretty. 

Steve turns off the StarkPad and sets it next to him. Sam had agreed to talk to Bucky as early as that evening, which is why Steve is sitting in the common room with Natasha and Clint instead of in his own room. Sam’s been up there for an hour and Steve debates going up there just to see, but decides to wait. Bucky will talk to him when he’s ready and no sooner than that.

  


* * *

  


Steve wakes up on the common room couch when Sam pushes lightly on his shoulder. “Hey man,” Sam says with a lopsided grin.

“Hey,” Steve mumbles, sitting up and pushing his hair back. “I fell asleep.”

“Yeah, my bad. Bucky kept me pretty late.”

“What time is it?”

“Four in the morning.”

“Jesus,” Steve says. “That’s good, though. Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s okay,” Sam assures him. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. Just figured you’d want to sleep in your own bed.”

Steve thanks him and they head upstairs together. Steve’s asleep again by the time his head hits his pillow.

  


* * *

  


“Steve? Steve, wake up. C’mon, man.”

Steve sits up abruptly. Sam is standing next to his bed looking worried.

“Sam? What’s going on?” Steve asks, looking around his room. The sun is up which means Steve’s slept in; the clock shows that it’s 8:45 in the morning. 

“I think we have a problem,” Sam says and Steve can tell he’s trying to remain calmer than he actually is.

“What happened?” Steve asks, not disguising the command for what it is.

“It’s Bucky. We think he’s run off again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky needs one of those chips they put in dogs. Or maybe just a GPS tracker. Seriously, what the hell???


	23. Chapter 23

“I told you it was a stupid idea,” Tony says. “Jarvis agreed, didn’t you, Jarvis?”

“Indubitably, sir.”

“See?”

“This was my decision to make,” Steve says, trying his hardest not to glare at Tony. “And I still stand by it.”

“You stand by-? Is this guy for real?” Tony asks, turning to Bruce. Bruce shrugs.

“Shouldn’t we be tracking him down?” Clint asks from his perch on the arm of the couch in the common room where they’re all standing around, at a loss for what to do. 

“No,” Steve says at the same time Tony gives a vehement “yes.”

“If we chase him, he’ll just go deeper into hiding,” Steve continues, ignoring Tony.

“I agree,” Natasha adds, arms crossed. “That’s what happened the last time. No reason to think this is any different.”

“Actually, there is,” Sam says. The room grows quiet as they turn to look at the man. “I may have accidentally told him to leave.”

“You what?” Steve asks, surprised.

“Not like that. I just… encouraged him to be independent and to make some decisions for himself, that’s all. I meant in the confines of the Tower where he could be helped, but I guess I should’ve been more specific.”

“You guessed right,” Steve snaps angrily. He regrets saying it immediately, but Sam holds his own.

“Look, I told him that because he needed to hear it,” Sam says. “The guy has been told what to do for the majority of his life and being able to make decisions is the first thing he’s gonna need to do before he’s able to get better.”

Steve sighs and rubs his eyes. “Yeah. Okay.”

“What do you want us to do, Cap?” Natasha asks.

Steve clenches his jaw and thinks. “Nothing,” he decides. 

“Unbelievable,” Tony mutters.

“He’ll come back,” Steve adds, louder and more determined. “And if he doesn’t, then that’s his prerogative. He’s as free as any of us to leave and I won’t change that.”

“Yeah, except he’s a fugitive and wanted by the American government for high treason,” Tony says.

Steve gives Tony a strange look. “What?” he asks.

Tony frowns at Steve. “You didn’t hear? Someone found out he was being kept here and now he’s been court-martialed.” Tony motions to Natasha. “You didn’t tell him?”

Natasha shrugs. “He had other things going on.”

“Are you kidding?” Steve says and looks back at Tony. “When’s the hearing?”

“I’ve been able to postpone it four times now. Not sure how much political pull I have left, but I’ll keep ‘em going as long as I can.”

“Fine.” Steve pauses. The court-martial is unfortunate, but it doesn’t change things. “No one touches Bucky,” Steve says. “Let him be. If he comes back, then we help him. If not…”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Sam adds helpfully. Steve nods in agreement.

  


* * *

  


The whole day passes without a lick of news concerning Bucky. Tony’s put out a BOLO, with a very specific hands-off clause attached, to the people he trusts in New York, D.C., Boston, and even Chicago, but so far there’s been nothing.

Steve focuses his mind elsewhere so he doesn’t punch a hole in his bedroom wall. There’s a mission he needs to complete and the sooner the better. He recruits Natasha and Clint. Sam offers to go, but Steve convinces him to stay in case Bucky returns looking for a friendly face. Tony doesn’t even offer which is just as well; this shouldn’t take too much man power.

The quinjet touches down somewhere in the southern portion of the Allegheny National Forest in Pennsylvania. Clint, Natasha, and Steve pick through the quiet, snow-covered woods in silence until Clint sees a displaced building ahead, motioning to the others. They slow their pace, crouching low until they can see the front of the building.

It looks as though nothing has changed since Steve and Bucky’s escape. The glass lays shattered from the front door, partially covered by new-fallen snow. They step through the broken glass, Clint and Natasha with their weapons at the ready and Steve holding his shield close. Their feet crunch on glass and kick bullet shells as they walk further in.

“They must’ve evacuated soon after we escaped,” Steve says. He stops and looks around the open lobby. There’s an elevator to the right and the door to the stairs sits open. Several guards’ bodies lay on the floor, thankfully preserved by the cold.

“Wouldn’t hurt to look around,” Clint says, sliding his drawn arrow back into the quiver on his back.

Steve steps toward the reception desk that’s riddled with bullet holes. Movement catches his eye and he freezes at the same time Natasha and Clint draw their weapons again. But the movement comes from two mid-sized televisions mounted to the wall on either side of the desk. The TV on the right fizzles out almost as soon as it turns on because of a bullet hole in the near center of the it. But the other TV goes white.

A familiar voice speaks.

“Captain Rogers!”

Steve clenches his jaw when Alexei appears on the screen. The man straightens his tie and smiles devilishly. It’s hard to see where he is, the camera is so tight on his face.

“Natasha, can you get a trace?” Steve asks under his breath. She’s already tapping away on her StarkPhone, but she shakes her head.

“It’s a recording,” she says. “He must’ve known you’d come back.”

“I’m so glad you’ve returned. You were quite rude, leaving without even saying goodbye. Don’t fret about it too much. We’ll be seeing each other soon, I can assure you. But I did want to thank you, Captain, for your participation. You really were brilliant and we got everything we needed to really start making progress on- Well, a conversation for another time, perhaps.

“I’m afraid if you’re looking for evidence of our whereabouts, you’re out of luck, although you’re welcome to look around. Perhaps you can reminisce on your stay with us. Until later then, Captain.”

There’s a tense and uncomfortable pause where Alexei looks off screen and says something in Russian. There’s some commotion in the background, barely audible, before the screen goes black and the TV shuts off.

“Got it,” Clint says, and shuts his phone off. “Recorded it all. I’ll send it to Stark for rendering. Maybe he’ll be able to figure out where this asshole is.”

Steve nods and heads over to the door leading downstairs. 

“We need to be careful,” Natasha says. “Place could be booby trapped.”

Clint snorts.

“Clint gets to keep watch up here while the adults explore the basement,” Natasha says.

Clint frowns, but doesn’t argue.

The halls are just as confusing, but Steve thinks he can remember them well enough. It takes a few tries, but he makes it to the main stretch and finds the room where they tortured Bucky. Its empty and Steve is partially grateful. If he never sees another one of those fucking machines again it’ll be too soon.

He then leads Natasha down to their holding cell. The door sits open and once again the room is empty; even the cots have been removed.

“Not much of a cell, is it?” Natasha comments.

“Yeah, Bucky said Hydra isn’t really known for taking prisoners.”

“He’s right.”

Steve’s earpiece beeps and Clint’s voice sounds in his ear: “We’ve got company.”

Natasha and Steve run, Steve following Natasha because he trusts her sense of direction far more than his own. Sure enough, they make it to the stairs and burst through the door. A bullet barely misses Steve’s head and he pulls Natasha close as he holds his shield up while they make for the receptionist desk. 

Clint is there, docking arrows and letting them fly with incredible precision. “Thanks for joining us,” he quips.

“Who are they?” Steve asks, ducking around the desk to chance a look. They look remarkably like the same Hydra guards who’d run the place before. The déjà vu is almost too much to handle as Steve presses himself close to the desk again.

“Trade with me,” Natasha says, and before Steve can reply, she’s straddling him so he can take her place in the middle.

“How many?” Steve asks.

“15? 20?”

“That’s 18 now,” Natasha says, falling back after taking a well-aimed shot. 

“17,” Clint says.

“16, 15, 14- shit!” Natasha ducks almost a second too late, and the bullet whizzes past to lodge itself into the wall in front of them.

“Less counting, more shooting,” Steve advises. He pulls his shield close, takes a deep breath, and rolls out from behind the desk. He blocks the bullets aimed at him easily and takes out the guard closest to the desk with his shield.

There are a few left, most shooting from outside the building, and Steve hears the thrumming of a helicopter nearby. They must have triggered something by returning to the base and Alexei sent a team to try and take them out. 

“Try” being the operative word as Steve tosses his shield, taking out two gunman, while a bullet and an arrow land simultaneous in another guard. The last guard lowers his gun and high-tails it for the helicopter, but the copter pilot has other ideas, taking off before the guard can get there.

The guard turns just as an arrow hits him square in the chest. He looks down at the thing before an electric shock pulses through, sending him to the ground in an unconscious heap.

Natasha and Clint join Steve as he heads outside, Clint stopping every once in awhile to pull out arrows.

“Find anything in your journeys?” Clint asks, wiping blood off an arrow on a black hand towel. They make their way toward the quinjet, following the path they left behind.

“Nothing. Cleaned out,” Steve replies.

“Which reminds me,” Natasha says, “Betty put in an order for one Creepy Torture Device awhile ago?”

“The one in Maine?” Steve asks.

“Yep. Arrived the other day, but you were AWOL. Tony’s been looking at it. Not sure how far he’s gotten, though.”

“All right, I’ll talk to him when we get back.”

  


* * *

  


Sam is there as soon as Steve, Clint, and Natasha step out of the quinjet. “Hey man,” he says. “Bucky’s back. Showed up a couple minutes ago.”

Steve doesn’t pretend to stay calm, instead racing into Stark Tower and taking the stairs three and four at a time to his floor. He bursts through the door into his apartment.

“Bucky?” he calls out. He lays his shield against the wall and walks into the living room. There’s no one, so he heads into the hallway and to Bucky’s room. Again, it’s empty and Steve is close to panic, thinking maybe he’s run away again, that he’d only returned in the first place because Steve was gone.

Steve figures he should probably check the common floor before jumping to conclusions. But as he passes his own bedroom door, he steps back. He never leaves his door shut and it isn’t like Sam to shut it for him. Steve tries the handle, it turns, and he lets himself in.

Bucky is there, laying fully clothed on top of Steve’s bed, face down, hugging a pillow and sound asleep. His mouth is half open, eyes closed and he looks peaceful for the first time since he’s been back.

Steve huffs a little laugh. Then he notices a stack of books by his bed. There must be 30 or 40 of them at least, thin and large. Steve steps farther into the room and picks up the top one. He recognizes it instantly.

He sits on the carpeted floor and pages through the old, yellowed pages of the sketchbook. This one is dated 1936, when Steve was only 18. Many of the pencil sketches inside are smeared and the charcoal ones are basically gone, but the few he did in ink are still there and he pauses at one of Bucky, his youthful profile so familiar and so strange at the same time. 

“I was trying to remember.”

Steve isn’t expecting Bucky’s voice, soft and low as it is. Steve closes the sketchbook.

“Where did you get these?” Steve asks.

Bucky sits up and pushes his hair back with one hand. He reaches down and picks up the next book on the pile – one dated 1939.

“They’re yours,” Bucky says, staring at the cover of the sketchbook.

“Well, yeah, but the last time I checked, these were at the Smithsonian being scanned by-“ Steve freezes and looks back at Bucky. “Bucky, did you steal these from the Smithsonian?”

Bucky doesn’t reply, which is answer enough.

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve curses.

“They’re _yours_ ,” he says again. “It wasn’t right that they took ‘em. You love to draw. You… You need to.”

Steve furrows his brow and studies Bucky’s face. He looks deeply concerned, his eyes pinched like he’s in pain, and frowning at the cover of the sketchbook. Steve notices his flesh-and-blood thumb caressing the side of the book reverently.

“I gave these to them,” Steve explains carefully. “I didn’t need them. I didn’t _want them_. They just…” Steve huffs and puts the sketchbook he has back onto the pile, “remind me of what I lost.” He pauses. “What I thought I lost,” he corrects.

Bucky finally looks over at Steve, that ever-present frown still tugging at his lips. 

Steve sighs and stands up. He goes over to his bookshelf and takes a thick, leather-bound book off the top shelf and hands it over to Bucky. “Here,” he says. “I never stopped drawing. Certainly don’t do it as much as back then, but…” He trails off as Bucky undoes the tie on the front and flips through it. Steve hasn’t looked through the thing in months. Hasn’t had the time.

Bucky stops at a sketch of a friendly, one-eyed golden lab. “Lucky,” Steve says. “Clint’s dog.”

Bucky continues through, but it’s mostly cityscapes – a way for Steve to get comfortable with the modern architecture that is New York City; it didn’t work. Bucky reaches the empty pages and closes the book. He places it next to him.

“We went back to the Hydra base,” Steve says in lieu of something to say. “It was completely cleared out. When we tried to leave, we got ambushed, but it was easy enough to fight our way out.”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says.

Steve shrugs. “No one got hurt.”

“No, I’m sorry for leaving. You asked me to tell you if I was leaving, I just didn’t think- I knew I was coming back, so I didn’t think…”

Steve pauses. “It’s okay,” he says finally. “Scared the shit outta me,” he admits with a smile, “but that’s nothin’ new.”

Bucky doesn’t crack and continues to stare at his hands in his lap. There’s a long silence, and Steve wonders if he should go and leave Bucky in peace, but then Bucky speaks: “I want to get better.”

Steve’s eyes get wide and he blinks a few times, wondering if he really heard what he did. “That’s… I mean, that’s really good,” Steve says, trying and failing to dampen his enthusiasm. “That’s great, actually.”

“But it’s not going to happen,” Bucky says, softer.

That delight in Steve’s chest crumples at the words. Steve strides over to the bed and he sits next to Bucky. “What the hell are you talking about?” Steve asks seriously.

Bucky lets his head fall into his hands. “I’m not… going to get better,” he says, his voice shaky and unsure. “I thought maybe before… When we were captured. I never forgot who I was or where we were. I was… okay for awhile. I thought maybe I was better. And then even when they tortured me, I came back. I could...” Bucky swallows loudly and sniffs. “But then I’m back here and I… I can’t focus. I remember sometimes, but others times I’m lost and I can’t find my way back without… without…” Bucky lets out a choked sob and Steve puts his arm around his shoulders before he can even think about whether or not it’s a good idea. But Bucky doesn’t push away. In fact, he leans into the touch, into Steve until he’s crying against his shoulder, hands gripping Steve’s arms through his suit. 

“Hey, hey, listen,” Steve says and he puts a hand on the back of Bucky’s neck to rub circles there with his thumb. “Listen, Buck. This isn’t a one-day thing. Or even a week-long thing. This is… It’s going and trying and yeah, you’ll fall back sometimes, but it’s not – shit, Sam is so much better at this – it’s not a progression from bad to good. It’s… recovery is getting better and when it becomes too much, it’s asking for help, relying on the people you trust to be there when you get bad again. But knowing that those people will be there when you do.”

Steve pushes lightly on Bucky’s shoulders to hold him farther away so he can look at his face. He’s stopped crying, but his eyes are red-rimmed and he’s staring blankly at Steve’s chest. “Buck, you gotta trust me on this. You can’t get better if you don’t _think_ you can. If you don’t _want_ to. Do you?” 

Bucky breathes a few shallow breaths before he lifts his eyes to look at Steve. “Yeah,” he says.

Steve nods. “Good. Then we’ll get you better.”

“Is that a promise, Captain?”

The half-assed joke takes Steve by surprise. He huffs a laugh and says, “Yeah, that’s a promise, Sergeant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Figured I'd leave you guys with a happy chapter for over the weekend. Because I'm nice like that.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and commenting. I love it all. I love YOU all. 
> 
> As always, I'm on the [tumblr](http://castiowl.tumblr.com).


	24. Chapter 24

Steve wakes up to the familiar sound of Jarvis calling his name. Steve grumbles and shoves his pillow over his head, but the AI gets louder until Steve’s sure the windows are rattling.

“What?” Steve says miserably.

“Mr. Stark requests your presence on the 3rd floor.”

“What time is it?”

“0340, sir,” Jarvis says.

Steve sighs.

He hasn’t been on the 3rd floor before because it’s storage for all of Tony’s failed experiments, a room full of hodgepodge equipment and unusable technology. Steve steps through the elevator doors and picks his way around dangerously exposed machinery, heading toward the tell-tale sounds of a drill.

He finds Tony sitting in what Steve has been calling the Torture Chair in his head, bent over the side with the tiniest electric drill Steve’s ever seen. There’s an open panel on the arm that Tony is hard at work undoing.

“Tony,” Steve greets.

Tony looks up and grins. “Yo, Cap. Hope I didn’t wake ya.”

“It’s 4 in the morning.”

Tony purses his lips. “So… I _did_ wake you?” He looks genuinely unsure.

“You needed to see me?” Steve asks.

“Yeah. This chair, man. Let me just…” He slides off it and hands the drill to Dum-E who takes it with a sad little whirring noise. Tony beckons to Steve who follows him around the back. Tony places his hands on the head piece, a complicated mass of wiring and electrical nodes. “This is so fucked up,” Tony says. “Your boy ever tell you what it does?”

Steve shakes his head. “Not sure even he knows.”

“Oh, he knows. He’d’ve been conscious the whole time. These wires would make sure of that.”

There’s a distinct feeling of dread deep in Steve’s bones at those words. “What’s it do?”

“It’s like an antiquated ECT chair. And so much worse. It uses sine-waves instead of brief-pulse currents, which is hardly the problem-“

“Sorry. ECT?”

“Electroconvulsive therapy,” Tony clarifies. “Usually used to treat mental disorders. It triggers seizures and it can help, but there are some obvious side effects, like memory loss. And this chair wasn’t used to treat anything. It was used to incite memory loss and memory loss only. I mean, the power in this thing probably should’ve killed him, like being tased with a lightning bolt for five straight minutes. Oh, Bruce wanted me to read you something.” Tony sidles over to a table and grabs a notebook. “Uh, oh, here it is.” He clears his throat. “Steve should look up HM.” Tony pauses. “HM? HM. Oh! Henry Molaison. He’s right – look him up.” Tony continues reading. “It’s difficult to say how much damage was done to Barnes’ brain until we get an MRI… There’s a little note here. Something about patience? Oh, that’s Betty’s handwriting. Okay, uh, then it says long-term memory would have been affected and blah blah blah. Uh, basically this chair is the reason your boy is so fucked up. This is how they took away his memories, by frying his brain until he couldn’t recall who he was. I mean, it was obviously more precise than that and I can tell you this chair wasn’t built ‘til the 80s, probably.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Sure. It means he’s only been subjected to this death trap for 30 years instead of 70. Silver lining or whatever.” Tony hands the notebook to Steve. “Here,” he says, “you can read it. I don’t really do proxy. Maybe talk to Bruce when he resurfaces, too. And Betty. Basically anyone but me.”

“So, what’re you working on?” Steve asks, turning back to the chair.

“Ah, just taking it apart, seeing how it works. But that’s not all I called you down here for. I figured out that nanotech in your neck.”

“Prognosis?”

“Well, you’ll live. And no one will be shocked by this, but I was totally right. I built something exactly like this 10 years ago. Jarvis, pull it up for me?” The same translucent 3-D image appears in front of them that Steve had seen before in Tony’s lab. “See these metaly parts? These are biochemical sensors. They were collecting information about the chemical reactions in your body.”

“What? Why?” Steve asks. His hand flies to his neck and rubs at the red but healed spot there.

“Your guess is as good as mine. And see this bit here?” Tony motions to a part of the image that’s slightly whiter than the rest of it. “This transmits the information, in code, to some outside source. And it’s a strong little signal, too. Although even if the receptor wasn’t close by, just having this thing in hand would give them all the information they need. Which is why I downloaded it all and destroyed the thing. Hope that’s okay.”

“No skin off my back,” Steve replies. “So, you read the info off the… thing?”

“Sure did. I’ll show you.” The image of the nanotech disappears and is instead replaced with a floating screen. Tony taps a few buttons and a chart appears.

“So this is your overall chemical composition. Fairly normal, given your, uh, physique,” Tony says, giving Steve a once over. “But if we look at the play-by-play, it gets fun.” Tony swipes sideways and the screen shows a chronological line with varying spikes of color, each coded with a name. “So, this is when the thing first came online. Some serious spikes in adrenaline – not surprising. Let’s fast-forward a little here. This is not too long after and we’ve got a drop in adrenaline and a serious spike in endorphins, norepinephrine, and… oxytocin.” Tony gives Steve a pointed look. “You were happy,” he translates. “Like, really happy?”

Steve frowns slightly and tries to think back to what happened right after they took out the Hydra guards. He’d followed Poleznym into the house and had asked a ton of questions and then Poleznym- _oh_. Poleznym had kissed Steve.

“The blushing tells me I don’t wanna know,” Tony says, averting his gaze back to the screen. “So let’s move on. You even out, whatever, whatever, and here. Another surge of adrenaline.”

“He tried to kill me. Or I thought he was, but it was a fluke. It was like he wanted to see my reaction,” Steve says. 

“Or get your pulse going,” Tony suggests. “To get a reading on that thing in your neck.”

“Yeah…” Suddenly the pieces fit together, why Poleznym had been so erratic, why he’d threatened to kill Steve with an empty gun and why he’d kissed him. It was all to read into Steve’s chemical makeup. 

“I think I know what they were up to,” Steve says. Tony quirks an eyebrow and Steve continues, “Alexei said that they needed more information before they could recreate the serum because they didn’t want to make any more mistakes. It’s the serum. They were measuring how my body reacts to the serum.”

Tony nods slowly. “Yeah, yeah, that makes sense. Put you in high-stakes situations and see how the serum affects how your body reacts to them.”

“And the training,” Steve says. “I thought it was training. But they were probably measuring my healing ability or… I don’t know.”

“Well, whatever they were measuring, they got most of it. And I don’t think there’s much we can do to stop them until we find ‘em.”

Steve runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Shit,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Tony agrees. “Shit.”

  


* * *

  


Tony moves all the equipment he needs up to the common floor and sets up shop there so he can finish fixing Bucky’s arm. Since the previous night’s revelation that Bucky wants help, he’s been resigned but not cold to Steve, which is an improvement.

When Steve arrives on the floor with a fist full of case files that need looking through (Fury may be gone, but the fear he’d instilled in Steve when it came to timely paperwork is not), Bucky is seated by the floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of the room with a notebook in his lap. He scribbles something down every once in awhile and doesn’t seem to notice when Steve walks in. 

Steve makes his way over to the kitchen area and grabs a bottle of water. Tony glances up, then continues working, but it catches Bucky’s attention and he looks over. He gives Steve a slight smile that Steve returns fully.

“How much longer ‘til you’re ready to go?” Steve asks, walking over.

“Just checking to make sure the wires are in the right place, here. Although,” Tony adds thoughtfully, sitting back on the stool, “it would be hilarious if when you went to punch you just stuck up your middle finger. Wouldn’t be hard to do.”

“Do you want to wake up tomorrow?” Bucky asks lightly and Steve laughs at Tony’s face, twisted in fear and amusement at the same time.

“All good?” Steve asks.

“Fine,” Bucky answers.

“Well, I’ve got work, so…”

Tony waves his hand and Steve settles down on the couch, dropping the case files on the glass table in front of him. Fifteen or 20 minutes pass in moderate silence, the only sound the shuffling of papers and the occasional welding sound from Tony’s side. 

The elevator doors open and Natasha steps out, tapping on her phone. She looks up and spots Steve, then glances over at Tony and Bucky. She pauses and it’s barely noticeable; Steve would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been paying attention, but there’s a slight look of distress on her face. Then it’s gone and she joins Steve on the couch.

“Can’t believe you’re still doing grunt work,” she says, staring down at the papers.

“I’d rather do it myself then have someone else mess it up,” Steve replies. 

“All done!” Tony exclaims from behind them. Steve and Natasha turn to look.

Bucky stands and flexes his arm. Steve’s eyes fall down as he takes in the shirtless man and he’s happy to note the pointed growth, remembering how sickly thin he’d been before. Bucky flexes his fingers and the metal plates glide noiselessly together and apart with every movement. Then he touches the left arm with his right, ghosting his fingers across the metal before gripping it tightly.

“It’s better than the old one,” Bucky comments.

Tony tuts and rolls his eyes. “Well, yeah. Obviously. The old one was a piece of crap. I mean, ingenious crap that lent itself to my designing this one, but still crap.”

Bucky stares at the arm for a beat more before grabbing his hoodie from the chair and pulling it over his head. Steve hums a note when he realizes it’s his sweater, a plain black thing with a nondescript logo on the shoulder. He uses it when he doesn’t want to be recognized in public and it’s a size too big for Bucky. 

Bucky looks over at Steve and opens his mouth to say something, but quickly closes it again when he spots Natasha. He snatches his notebook off the small table that holds Tony’s equipment and heads straight for the stairs, disappearing before Steve can call after him.

“Am I missing something?” Steve asks Natasha.

She shrugs one shoulder, but the way she avoids his eye is telling.

  


* * *

  


Days pass in relative peace. Steve speaks with Bruce and Betty who validate his fears concerning the nanotech found inside him. Tony assures him he and Jarvis are doing everything they can to locate Alexei and the rest of Hydra, but they have no leads besides the helicopter and that took off too quickly to trace by the time they’d made it to the quinjet.

Betty sits with Steve to discuss Bucky’s health, but she doesn’t say anything Sam hasn’t already told him. It’s reassuring that they’re on the same page, at least. And Bucky seems to be making small progress. He’s still quiet, distant, and spends the majority of his time in his room doing god-knows-what, but it’s a step up from punching windows and running away.

Bucky speaks with Sam on a daily basis, sometimes twice, and Steve even catches them joking together in the kitchen once. It’s a happy sight, though Steve can’t help but wonder why Bucky still feels more comfortable confiding in Sam than him. 

The court-martial is still in the back of Steve’s mind, and the longer they can postpone it the better. Steve wishes he could hide Bucky away from the world, keep him in the Tower until he’s back to normal. But it’s a fallacy, an impossibility. Normal doesn’t exist, never has. 

When Bucky does make an appearance on the common floor it’s usually brief and spent writing in that notebook of his. On the off-chance Natasha is there, Bucky turns tail; Steve’s still not sure what that’s about and Natasha isn’t forthcoming.

“So, what is that notebook for?” Steve asks Sam one night when his curiosity bests his respect for privacy.

Sam raises an eyebrow at him and he finishes chewing. He leans against the kitchen bar on the common floor. “He still hasn’t told you?” Sam asks.

“No,” Steve replies.

“Huh.” Sam pops a chip in his mouth and chews thoughtfully. “I told him he should. That you could help.” He shrugs and wipes his hands on a napkin. “Guess it’s not time yet.”

“Seriously?” Steve says desperately.

Sam puts his hands up. “Dude, you’re asking the wrong person. Patient-doctor confidentiality and all that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, staring down at the half-empty coffee mug in his hands. 

“Just ask him,” Sam says. “The worst that could happen is he says no and then you go back to normal.”

“No, the worst that could happen is he takes it personally and goes running the other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title change! I'm not actually a fan of Fall Out Boy song title-length titles. I just really like that lyric. Anyway, I compromised and this works just as well.
> 
> Should I really call this The Notebook? Wait, I already wrote that lmao.
> 
> Thank you for reading as always. I can't believe how many people like this POS???? like, 299 kudos at the time i'm posting this??? noooo,,,,,,,,//,
> 
> I'm also a big fan of grumpy Steve in the early mornings. People tend to write him as a morning person which seems like the OBVIOUS choice, so grumpy steve it is.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna add a content warning here for non-consensual kissing just in case. (Bucky kisses Steve when he's super sick and sleeping), so if that bothers you, feel free to skip this chapter. (Although it is BY FAR my favorite I've written so I will be a little sad.)

Steve hears his door open, his acute hearing alerting him to the presence long before his mind is fully awake. His room is still dark and the clock shows 0230. There’s a pressure on the side of the bed, an indentation where a body presses down.

Steve turns onto his back and sees Bucky on his hands and knees, staring right back at him. 

“Bucky?” Steve asks. “Everything okay?”

“I need your help.”

“Okay.” Steve sits up and turns on the bedside lamp. Bucky is still dressed in the clothes he was wearing yesterday: a black, fitted t-shirt and dark grey sweatpants of Steve’s that are too long. His hair is pulled into a messy bun on the back of his head and his eyes are bright and searching. He puts out his hand and Steve looks down. Bucky is handing him his notebook.

“You sure?” Steve asks, taking the book gingerly.

“Yeah,” Bucky says and he sits cross-legged on Steve’s bed.

Steve watches Bucky a moment, then he opens the book to the first page. It’s dated 10 March 1917. Under it is a single line of script: _James Buchanan Barnes_. Just beneath it is another date: 4 July 1918 with _Steven Grant Rogers_ written beneath it. Their birthdays. Steve turns the page to find that the whole notebook is filled with the familiar, messy script of Bucky’s handwriting. Steve starts at the beginning.

_January 1935_

_I kiss Steve Rogers in his ma’s apartment after the worst blizzard of the year._

  


* * *

  


_”Ma, can’t you take one day off?” Steve asked, following her around the kitchen like a stray cat desperate for attention._

_“Wish I could,” she said kindly, pulling on her peacoat that’s too thin for the blistery weather outside. The snow had been coming down in drifts since late last night and now there were five inches covering the streets of Brooklyn, turning the gray city into something burgeoning on clean._

_“At least be careful on your way,” Steve insisted. He always hated watching his ma go to work in poor weather._

_She kissed her son on the forehead and put her hand up at Bucky who was blowing smoke out the cracked window of the apartment. “See ya, Mrs. Rogers,” he said with a lopsided grin._

_“Don’t leave that window open too long, you got that?” Sarah said._

_He immediately snuffed out the last of his cigarette and shut the window. “Yes, ma’am,” he said._

_“You boys don’t get into trouble. And stay inside. Don’t want either of you catching cold.”_

_Bucky threw an arm around Steve’s shoulders and smiled easily. “We’re gonna sleep the day away, ain’t we, Steve?”_

_Steve frowned and watched as his mother left. Steve pushed Bucky’s arm off of him before retreating into the bedroom to retrieve his jacket._

_“Whoa, what’re you doing?” Bucky asked, sticking his arms out to stop Steve in his tracks._

_“What d’ya think?” Steve snapped. “I’m following her to work. Gotta make sure she’s okay.”_

_“Jesus, pal, you got a death wish?” Bucky pushed on Steve’s shoulders until he moved toward the couch. Steve sat and angrily handed over his coat when Bucky stuck his hand out._

_“She’ll be fine. Just relax, all right? Shouldn’t you be studying anyway?”_

_Steve rolled his eyes. “I don’t need to study.”_

_Bucky snorted and sat next to Steve on the couch. “What’s your next test on?”_

_“Calculus.”_

_“Then go get your book.”_

_Steve groaned. “No way! It’s Saturday. I’m not studying on a Saturday.”_

_“I knew I should’ve failed a grade,” Bucky said._

_Steve punches him on the arm. “No way,” he said. “You got out.”_

_Bucky hummed in agreement. “Now that high school is over, my life is just full of adventure. My job at the grocer’s is thrilling, I tell you!”_

_“Better than high school,” Steve pointed out._

_Bucky rolled his eyes but didn’t push it any further. In the end they fell into their old stay-at-home routine, Bucky fast asleep on the couch while Steve sketched in his notebook. Bucky slept deeply, the kind of sleep he could only get at the Rogers’ because his house was full of his four screaming sisters who liked nothing more than pulling their big brother’s hair while he napped. He woke in the early afternoon with a blanket over him on the couch. It took a moment for his body to fully wake up and then he stood and walked to the bedroom. Steve wasn’t in there or the bathroom or anywhere else in the house, which meant-_

_“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Bucky cursed and grabbed his jacket before heading outside._

_Bucky clutched the wool coat close to his body as the biting wind tried to freeze him where he stood._ Stupid. Fucking. Rogers. _Bucky should’ve known better than to assume Steve would stay put, should’ve known that Steve had given up too easily that morning, should’ve known the little shit had a backup plan._

_Bucky trudged through the snow, his teeth already chattering. At least the snow had stopped, although it was hard to tell as the wind pulled drifts of snow off the surrounding buildings, turning the air white._

_Bucky made it to the hospital in less than an hour and walked to reception. A pretty nurse smiled at him. “Looking for Mrs. Rogers?” she asked knowingly. Bucky had been there enough to be considered a regular, mostly for Steve’s sake given his offensively long list of maladies._

_“No. Steve, actually. He came to check on his ma,” Bucky said._

_The nurse’s smile faltered. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I haven’t seen him and I’ve been here all day.”_

_Bucky’s blood ran cold. “Okay,” he said. “Um. Don’t tell Mrs. Rogers. I’m sure he’s fine. I’ll just… He’s fine.” He left before the nurse could say anything._

_Bucky went through possible places Steve could’ve gone, refusing to assume the worst. Bucky started from the hospital on the very edge of the neighborhood and worked his way down, popping into general stores and pharmacies and even a bar once, just in case Steve stopped in to get warm. There was no sign of him. And Bucky was terrified. He tried to keep his breathing even, but the wind was so cold and it made him tear up. When water finally fell from his eyes, he wiped it away, annoyed._

_He was nearly back at the apartment, sparingly hopeful that Steve had gotten partway to the hospital and then turned back when he came to his senses and somehow they’d missed each other on the way. A cat scampered out of a covered alleyway, hissing as it pounced into the snow and went careening off into the distance. Bucky heard dry thumps from the darkened street and he turned his bleary eyes toward the noise._

_Four bodies were huddled up close together and Bucky’s heart stopped because there was definitely a kid on the ground behind them and he was definitely getting the shit kicked out of him. Bucky took off, feet slipping at first before he gained traction and he threw himself at the first body, tearing the guy backwards so he slipped and hit the ground hard. The other three turned to look at what made their friend fall and their sneers turned to anger. Bucky was glad to see one was already sporting a split lip and another had blood oozing out of his nose._

_Bucky threw a punch; it was muffled by his gloves, but it still landed hard enough to knock the second kid back. And they were kids – certainly younger than Bucky, anyway. That didn’t matter because out of the corner of his eye, Bucky could see Steve’s crumpled form on the ground and it turned his blood hot with rage._

_Bucky dodged the retaliatory punch, but another kid caught him in the back with a knee and he buckled. He rolled to the ground and kicked up, catching the kid in the balls before jumping up and throwing punch after punch until the two who were standing backed off a little. One kid, the tallest of the bunch, spit blood onto the ground and wiped his mouth._

_“Fuckin’ fairies. Leave ‘em. They’re not even worth it. Might catch somethin’ if we hang around anyway.” The four turned tail and Bucky rushed to Steve’s side._

_“Jesus, Steve,” Bucky breathed, pushing down his scarf so he could breathe easier. “Hey, look at me.” He took off his snow and blood-covered gloves to cup Steve’s face, turn it toward him. Steve winced and his eyes fluttered open._

_“Had ‘em on the ropes,” Steve mumbled._

_“You’re a fuckin’ nightmare, Stevie,” Bucky replied. He let out a breath that fogged the air around them. Steve looked to be in bad shape, his nose bloodied and Bucky noticed the way he clutched his side like maybe a rib or two was cracked. It was gonna be a long week._

  


* * *

  


_As it turned out, Steve’s injuries were the least of their problems. A couple fractured ribs would heal and the bruising around his face and sides got progressively better every day, but laying in a frozen puddle in an alleyway on one of the coldest days of the year had sent Steve’s health plummeting and now he was stuck in bed, shivering and sweating and hacking up a lung._

_Bucky worked short hours at the grocer so he could spend time with Steve and let Sarah work. He even spent a pretty penny on an apple once or twice to bring to Steve, which was more about the gesture than the actual thing because Steve could barely hold down soup, let alone anything solid._

_On the fourth day, when Steve wasn’t getting any better and Sarah started to look more worried than usual, Bucky suggested they get meds from a doctor. Sarah blanched a little and Bucky knew why – she’d spent their entire savings on food and blankets to ward off the worst of Steve’s symptoms. So Bucky slipped her the five dollar bill he’d been saving up for new clothes and turned away without a word. She didn’t argue, either, which was good because Bucky wasn’t sure he could talk her down if she really tried._

_It was a long wait for the medicine because Sarah had to work her shift first. Bucky almost left, walked the distance to the hospital to get the meds, but what if Steve needed him? What if Steve…?_

_The coughing got so bad that Steve’s lungs protested and it was all Bucky could do to keep his friend breathing right, rubbing circles on his bare and pale chest. Once or twice Bucky nodded off, head and arms in front of Steve on the bed, the rest of him on the hard floor; his legs kept falling asleep._

_Once, Bucky woke up to a warm hand brushing the hair back from his face and he smiled. “Hey,” Bucky said, but Steve was already asleep again._

_When Sarah finally did show up, Steve was in a bad way. His coughing was worse and Bucky swore he saw blood, but he’d been so afraid he threw the handkerchief away without looking too hard. It was still in the trash and he was still too chicken shit to look._

_Steve took the medicine and Sarah and Bucky sat around as if the stuff would work miracles. But medicine isn’t a miracle, they found that out pretty quickly. Steve’s cough remained incessant and his fever didn’t break._

_Bucky resorted to begging Sarah to take the couch, get some rest because she needed it more than him and yes, if anything happened he’d wake her up, okay? She finally did._

_It was five in the morning and still dark out when Bucky opened his eyes. It took him a moment to figure out what had woken him up, and then he heard the wheezing, a wet thing that made Bucky want to cry. He took Steve’s pale hand from under the covers and held it, thinking if he were awake he’d probably clock Bucky for doting over him like a mother hen._

_This wasn’t the first bout of life-threatening sickness Bucky had stuck around for and it probably wasn’t the last, but each time stoked the anxious flame in Bucky’s heart, the one that told him he’d become friends with the guy most likely to die from an ill-timed rainstorm in May. And he wasn’t complaining, really he wasn’t. But sometimes he wished it could be like those ridiculous stories he read his sisters before bed. The ones where everything is fixed by a potion or a spell or a kiss._

_A kiss._

_Bucky’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it once or maybe a couple dozen times. Enough to make him feel sick to his stomach for thinking it at all. But Steve’s pretty as a dame, he’d tell himself, that’s all. Really, it’s nothing. But then they’d be sitting together on the floor of his ma’s apartment playing cards or standing next to each other in line for a movie or sharing a sandwich outside the grocer’s on Bucky’s lunch break and it would hit Bucky all at once, how truly amazing Steve was and how long his eyelashes were and the way he was self-deprecating but only ‘cause he knew Bucky didn’t believe a word of it. And Bucky wanted to kiss him, not so friendly-like. It always made him tear up a little from the shock and shame and Steve always noticed, but he never said a word when Bucky’d turn away and make some excuse to leave. What would Steve think of him, anyhow? Steve_ trusted _him and here Bucky was perverting innocuous moments into something, well,_ wrong _._

 _Bucky knew it was wrong, that_ he _was wrong. But he liked the ladies well enough to think maybe it was a fluke, that Steve_ did _look enough like a dame to pass and that’s why Bucky felt the way he did. Because Steve was beautiful, no denying. Even with his short, blonde hair, he had longer eyelashes than any girl Bucky’d taken out dancing and his lips were pink and full without any of that sticky rouge girls wore. And his eyes- well, they’d make any guy swoon, wouldn’t they?_

_But why then did Bucky want to kiss him now when he was sickly pale and ill to boot? It was a primordial urge deep in his gut and it was panic-inducing but not unfamiliar. He tamped the feeling down to stare at his friend. Steve’s breathing had softened, mouth still partly open and skin washed slightly yellow because of the streetlamp outside the bedroom window, dimmed by the ratty curtain but not enough. Bucky made a note to bring an extra bedsheet over from his house to cover the window; Steve needed rest and it must be impossible with all this light._

_Steve mumbled something in his sleep and turned slightly toward Bucky before falling into silence again. Bucky pressed the back of his fingers against Steve’s forehead and felt the burn, almost too hot to touch, and thought of_ The Wonderful Wizard of Oz _. It was Rebecca’s favorite and Bucky was pretty sure he could recite it from memory, he’d read it to her so often. In it, the Good Witch of the North gives Dorothy a kiss on the forehead to protect her from trouble. And really, how would this be any different? Sarah kissed Steve on the forehead all the time. Bucky leaned forward, pushed Steve’s hair away from his face, and pressed his lips softly against his forehead. Bucky retreated quickly, sure that Steve would wake up and tell him to screw off for being so deluded. But Steve didn’t move and Bucky found himself dismayed by the nonreaction._

_He didn’t believe in magic. Really, he didn’t. But there was something about the handsome prince kissing Sleeping Beauty in Perrault’s story that Samantha liked so much. And that kiss was on the mouth. Bucky wasn’t crazy; he knew a kiss couldn’t break Steve’s fever or remove the liquid from his lungs or fix his weak immune system._

_But then again, no one had actually _tried_. What if Steve died and they found out that all Bucky had to do was kiss him? Wouldn’t it be worse to die from the pain of not knowing if he could’ve saved his best pal? And it’s not like Steve would remember, the guy was so out of it. Even if he did wake up, Bucky could blame the time of day or the sickness getting to Steve’s head because _ what, you callin’ me a fairy, Stevie? Honestly, thought you knew me better than that. __

 _It wasn’t like Bucky_ wanted to _, he told himself. Nah, he was_ taking one for the team _, doing Steve a_ favor _. Samantha would agree, anyway. She’d tell Bucky to go for it because she was 5 years old and didn’t know any better._

_Bucky rubbed the soft pad of his thumb along Steve’s cheek, feeling the red flush of it burning away under his palm._

_“Who would I be without you, Stevie?” Bucky asked, almost too soft to hear. “Just some shmuck, that’s who. I’m nothin’ without you, so you gotta-“ Bucky’s voice broke and he swallowed. “You gotta pull through, okay?”_

_Before he could think twice about it, Bucky leaned forward and pressed his lips against Steve’s. Bucky closed his eyes, relishing the warmth against his own lips and Steve’s soft, short breaths on his mouth. Steve twitched slightly and Bucky pulled back quickly, pressing the back of his left hand against his mouth. He knew he was beet red and he turned back to the door, because maybe he’d woken Sarah? But no, all was quiet. Steve shifted slightly under the thin sheet, eyebrows pinching together briefly before going still again._

_Bucky’s heart was going a mile a minute and tears filled his eyes. He choked out a quiet sob and brought his knees to his chest, holding himself close. He was so fucked, so completely and thoroughly fucked and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Steve was so sick and Bucky was so lost, utterly useless when he was needed the most and-_

_“Buck?”_

_Bucky turned quickly back to Steve on the bed, wiping away his tears. “Yeah, pal, I’m here.”_

_Steve hummed and opened his eyes blearily. His eyes washed over Bucky’s face and his lips twitched down in a slight frown. “What’s a matter?” he asked sleepily._

_Bucky shook his head. “Nothin’, pal. Don’ worry ‘bout it.”_

_Steve closed his eyes and snaked one hand out from under the blanket toward Bucky. Bucky looked at the outstretched hand warily. His fingers were so spindly, pale and weak. But they flexed slightly, so Bucky put his hand in Steve’s._

_“Thanks,” Steve said softly._

_And if Bucky pretended the thanks was for the kiss and not for his hand, Steve never had to know._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter gets REAL. so real. TOO REAL.


	26. Chapter 26

Steve clears his throat and turns the page of the notebook in his hands. He’s shaking slightly, but not enough for Bucky to notice. Each entry is dated, some very specific with even the time of day written while others have just a year or season, some with nothing at all.

“Sam told me,” Bucky starts, voice surprisingly matter-of-fact, “that writing down what I remember might help me sort through things. It _does_ help. Sam also said I could ask you. I _should_ ask you,” he corrects, “to… with some of the dates.”

Steve is struck by the enormity of what Bucky is asking. After so long guarding these memories, not letting anyone know what exactly he remembers, he’s showing Steve exactly what he knows. And he’s asking Steve to fill in the blanks. Steve’s face must show his surprise because Bucky quickly backtracks: “You don’t have to-“

“No!” Steve says quickly, looking up from the notebook to stare at Bucky earnestly. “No, I want to. I… thank you. I know what this must mean to you. I want to help.”

Bucky frowns slightly. “All right, don’t get so excited.” He motions to the journal. “It’s like a puzzle where most of the pieces are missing. And some pieces are from different puzzles or… I don’t know. Sam made some shitty metaphor but I don’t remember. It’s not a fuckin’ literary masterpiece. It’s not even in order.”

Steve smiles at him in reply. “Okay,” he says.

“Okay,” Bucky replies, then awkwardly sits there, staring past Steve at the wall.

“Is it okay if I make notes in this?” Steve asks, pressing down the first page with a hand while he reaches over to his nightstand to pick out a different colored pen. He finds red, which works well enough for him.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. He looks halfway between wanting to make a dash for the door and staying put, so Steve asks: “You wanna stay? In case I have questions, I mean.”

“Okay,” Bucky says, but he doesn’t move.

“Um, you can…” Steve motions to the spot next to him. There’s already an abundance of pillows so Bucky makes himself comfortable sitting up against the headboard, staring over at the notebook in Steve’s lap.

Steve uncaps the pen with his mouth and begins to read.

  


* * *

  


Steve is up the rest of the night and a good bit of the morning with Bucky, reading through the notebook. He forces himself to view it like a textbook, filling in facts and dates when he can but otherwise keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself.

Bucky doesn’t remember much from before the war, as it turns out. There are several one-sentence entries, like the one about kissing Steve, but no details and later, no mentions of their relationship. Steve tries not to read into that too much. If all Bucky remembers is kissing Steve when he was sick, he might think they never were together at all, which is disheartening, but Steve tucks that conversation away for a later time.

Bucky remembers a little bit more about the war. Specific events are written in great detail, their tactical plans and infiltrations are scrawled across the page as if he were filing a report. And maybe that’s why he remembers it so well; he’d had to relive these memories more than once. There’s a short mention of the Howling Commandos, but their names are never written; Steve jots them down in the margin. 

The entries do skip around and some Steve has to read two or three times to place. Even then, some memories are unfamiliar, either happening when Steve wasn’t present or after Bucky fell from the train. There are snapshots of Hydra’s experimentations, often denoted by the first sentence reading “my arm is not my own.” These Steve reads with bated breath because he’s never dared to wonder about the atrocities that happened to his friend while Steve was in the ice.

The memory Bucky mentioned before about the World’s Fair is in there, a short paragraph about the technology they’d seen. There’s no mention of the kiss shared in the photobooth and there’s something afterwards that’s heavily crossed out.

Steve glances over at Bucky to ask, but the man is asleep, head propped on the edge of Steve’s pillow, mouth slightly open. Steve carefully reaches over to the nightstand and opens the drawer slowly. He pulls out the photo strip and slips it in between the pages before continuing to read the notebook.

The next memory is once again after the war, after Bucky had fallen. It describes a series of training exercises in a place called the Red Room. The name sounds vaguely familiar and Steve makes a mental note to look it up later. This particular passage is long, spanning four pages in Bucky’s tiny scrawl. It describes Bucky’s apparent position as teacher to a group of what Bucky describes as girls that “can’t be older than 14 or 15, the oldest a girl in her early 20s who later disappears and I can’t remember why, but the guilt I feel when I think of her tells me all I need to know.” Bucky writes about the rigorous combat training he puts them through, pushing them to the very brink and sometimes right over. 

There’s an unnamed girl he shows great interest in; clearly Bucky has an affinity for her. She’s the only one he expresses open concern for in his writing and it’s almost beautiful the way he speaks of her. Bucky’s always been the better writer between the two of them. He could wax poetic about a pair of gym socks if he had half a mind to do it. Steve always envied him that, and he’s glad to see some talents never quite disappear.

The passage finishes with Bucky going on a mission, though he can’t remember where, and he leaves the Red Room worrying about his favorite pupil. Written at the bottom of the page in blue ink, clearly jotted down at a later time than he’d written this entry are two words in Russian: Наталья Романова. Steve frowns and reaches for his phone. He opens the translation app and waits a moment for the camera to open and load.

“Наталья Романова” is replaced by “Natalia Romanova” on his screen and Steve frowns. Natasha? But what does she have to do with-?

It clicks and suddenly Bucky’s hesitance around Natasha, her strange looks, make a lot more sense.

“Bucky,” Steve says quietly. He places a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and shakes him lightly. “Bucky, wake up.”

Bucky’s eyes snap open and he reels back from Steve with fear in his eyes. It takes him a long moment to place his surroundings, but he finally focuses on Steve and settles back on the bed, folding his legs underneath him.

“Bucky, is this… Is this true?” Steve holds out the notebook to Bucky who frowns down at it.

“What?” Bucky asks, eyes skimming the page, then they land on the name written at the end. “Oh.”

“Oh? You _trained_ Natasha? The Red Room, that’s where she was trained, right? I knew I’d heard it before – it was among the loads of information she leaked when we took down Hydra.”

Bucky shrugs one shoulder. “I haven’t asked, it’s only a guess.” But the way he looks at Steve makes Steve think Bucky is a little more sure than he’s letting on. 

“Why not?” Steve asks.

Again, Bucky shrugs. 

Steve thinks a moment. “Do you want me to ask her?”

“No,” Bucky replies immediately.

“She’s really not as scary as she looks,” Steve says.

Bucky looks like he wants to roll his eyes, but he refrains. “That’s not it,” he says. “If she is… I don’t…” Bucky runs a hand across his face and frowns deeply at Steve’s comforter. 

“Okay, okay,” Steve relents. “Backburner. I’m almost finished. You can sleep if you want.”

Bucky looks like he’s considering it, but then he shakes his head and gets off the bed. He stretches his arms above his head and heads out the door. Steve takes that as his cue to continue reading.

The last few entries are unfamiliar to Steve, so he doesn’t have much to add. Steve shuts the journal and stares at his bedroom ceiling. There’s a lot Bucky remembers and even more that he’s forgotten. That’s assuming this notebook is comprehensive and Bucky isn’t holding back.

Bucky re-enters the room holding the last bit of a peeled banana. He pops it in his mouth before coming over to sit on Steve’s bed. 

“Finished,” Steve says, handing the notebook back.

Bucky grabs it by the spine and by doing so, the strip of photos fall out, landing face-down on the bed between them. Bucky’s brow furrows and he picks up the paper, flipping it over to look. Steve watches tensely as Bucky’s eyes follow the strip from the top to the bottom. His blue eyes flick up to meet Steve’s. “What is this?” he asks.

“World’s Fair,” Steve answers. “Thought you might want a visual reference.”

Bucky looks back at the photos. “I kissed you,” he says.

“Yeah. You did that a lot,” Steve says, framing it as a joke in case Bucky wants an out.

“No, I kissed you when you were sick,” Bucky replies as if that clears things right up.

“Yeah?” Steve says. “And you kissed me again here,” Steve indicates the photos, “and a lot in between, too, for that matter.”

“As… as a joke?” 

Steve tries not to hear the hope in that question, but it’s undeniably there. “If it was a joke, it was a long-con. Buck, we were together for ten years, give or take.”

“Together,” Bucky repeats, still not meeting Steve’s eyes and staring down at the photos. After a long silence, Bucky says, “You’re lying.” It’s not a question, it leaves no room for debate. His words are hard and certain. “You’re lying,” he says again, this time staring at Steve.

Steve reaches out a hand. “No, Buck, I’m-“

“Don’t touch me!” Bucky snaps and practically jumps off the bed like he can’t get away from Steve fast enough. His expression is closed off, a dark panic settling behind his eyes. “You- You’re _lying_ ,” Bucky says again. “You’re a pansy, ain’t ya? A fairy, a _queer_!” 

“Bucky!” Steve snaps, angry in spite of himself. He launches himself off the bed and makes toward Bucky, but he’s already backed himself to the door.

He gives Steve one last disgusted look that settles down in Steve’s bones, certain to never leave again, before turning away. “Fuckin’ fag,” Steve hears Bucky hiss as he walks off and god, Steve never hated who he was until this very moment, until what he felt hurt Bucky.

  


* * *

  


Steve has to talk to Sam about what happened. Logically, he knows this. Emotionally, he’s unprepared and spends the day outside of Stark Tower running unnecessary errands. He writes Peggy a letter in the park and mails it, picks up groceries he doesn’t actually need, buys a pair of jeans from a starry-eyed saleswoman, eats alone at a pub in the evening. By six o’clock he heads back, walking slow and running through how he’s going to break the news to Sam.

Steve is banking on Sam’s response. If he reacts poorly, Steve might actually feel something about the whole ordeal because at the moment he feels nothing. And somehow that’s worse than being heartbroken.

Bucky called him a whole slew of nasty names, basically told him to fuck right off, and Steve feels… nothing? Sure, at the time, it dug like a knife in a nerve, but now it’s like it didn’t even happen. Maybe he’s in denial, maybe it’s his physical distance from Bucky keeping him from coming to terms with what happened. 

Sam is on the common floor having a heated discussion with Clint about types of coffee. Clint is certain that at the end of the day all coffee is the same.

“Same plant, same taste.”

“Dude, you are _crazy_ if you think Dunkin Donuts is to Starbucks as Folger’s is to Stumptown.”

Clint shrugs and sips at a mug of what has to be coffee. “To each their own.”

Sam stares open-mouthed at Clint. “Nah,” he says finally. “You’re gonna change your mind. I’m gonna _make you_ change your mind. You, me, and Sit  & Wonder.”

“Who the hell are sit and wonder?”

“Who the he- You know what? I’m not even gonna answer that.”

Steve laughs and Sam turns, realizing their conversation has an observer. “Steve, back me up, here,” he says. “You’re Brooklyn born and bred. Stumptown?”

“I have no idea what that is,” Steve says, putting his hands up.

“Holy shit,” Sam says.

“Sorry. Hey, can I… talk to you for a second?”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, man, of course.”

Steve leads the way over to a couple of armchairs by the elevator. Steve watches as Clint turns away from them, opening the fridge in the kitchenette and turning off his hearing aids. Steve smiles at that.

“Have you talked to Bucky today?” Steve asks, sitting forward with his elbows on his knees.

“No, haven’t had the chance. He’s been sleeping all day. Guess he had a long night,” Sam replies. “Why do you ask?”

Steve drops his head low and runs a hand through his hair. “Bucky came to me last night and showed me his notebook.”

Sam perks up at that. “Oh yeah? ‘Bout time. Did you help him out?”

“Yeah, I filled in what I could. A lot of those memories I wasn’t a part of, so I couldn’t really help.”

Sam nods knowingly. “Yeah, I figured that’d be the case. He’s more likely to remember traumatic experiences than the innocuous ones, so I imagine after he fell, he’s got a lot of sorting through to do. Still, it’s a good start, I think. I guess that also explains why he’s sleeping his life away today.”

“It doesn’t, actually,” Steve says and Sam must not miss the look of guilt on Steve’s face because he asks, “What happened?”

“Everything was going really well. I mean, he shared his memories with me and I’m fully aware of what that means, the enormity of that.” Sam nods in agreement. “But,” Steve continues, “things took a turn at the end. I, um, have you read the notebook?”

Sam shakes his head. “He’s told me about a couple of the memories. He knows he was implemental in the assassinations of several people of note and I helped him with the dates there, but no, I’ve never actually read it.”

“The first entry is… Well, it’s about us. It’s about the first time he kissed me when we were kids. Or, I was 17 anyway. And he remembers that. And he remembers when we went to the World’s Fair three years after that, when we were _together_ , so I… I tried to help him remember. I have a photo of us kissing from a photobooth there. And when he saw it, he was completely freaked out. He swore I was lying about us, that we were never together, and then he…” Steve trails off, staring into dead space ahead of him.

“What’d he do?” Sam asks quietly.

“Well, guess he didn’t take to kindly to the idea and he called me a bunch of names.”

“Slurs?” Sam guesses.

Steve nods.

Sam sighs and leans back in the chair. “It’s strange,” he says. “He’s never lashed out before about your relationship. I wonder what about the photo did it. Could be ‘cause it’s the first solid proof he has that your relationship was real. Think about it from his perspective for a second: a lot of the information he got about his former self before finding you was from textbooks and websites and museum exhibits.”

“None of which would know about… us,” Steve realizes.

“Right, so if he’s based who he used to be on that, then realized that they’ve missed one crucial detail, then what should he believe? You? Or historians with doctorates and shit?”

Steve nods slowly. “Okay,” he says, “but that doesn’t explain why the name-calling. Bucky was a lot of things, but bigoted was never one of ‘em. I mean, he was never okay with being out. He wanted more than anything to slip under the radar, keep it quiet. But he wasn’t ashamed, just afraid.”

“Which he had every right to be back then.”

“Right. And I didn’t mind because it’s what he wanted. There were more important things happening than who knew we were fucking.”

Sam barks a laugh. “You know that shit about never meeting your heroes? Whoever said that never met you, man.”

Steve snorts. 

“But you're right,” Sam continues. “It’s weird that he’d think that way without any basis for it. Which probably means the bigotry came later. Hydra, maybe?”

“Could be.” Steve gets an idea. “You seen Natasha around?”

“She went up to her floor, I think. Why?”

“She knows more than she lets on.”

“That’s sort of a constant, though, isn’t it?” Sam quips.

Steve smiles. “Yeah. Hey, thanks, Sam. For everything. You left home for this and I’m grateful. Really.”

“Don’t need to thank me. D.C. is nothin’ compared to this place. Where else am I gonna get my Stumptown coffee?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Natasha will totally fix everything, right???


	27. Chapter 27

“Captain? Might I suggest you knock first? Mr. Barton let himself in yesterday and nearly had his head removed by a pair of powerful thighs,” Jarvis intones.

“Thanks for the advice,” Steve says and knocks on Natasha’s door. Thirty seconds later, the door opens. Natasha’s hands are wrapped and she’s wearing nothing but a sports bra and tight workout shorts. Steve would blush if he didn’t consistently see the things women wear out on the streets of Manhattan. 

“Nat, can we talk?”

“Sure, if you can hold my punching bag,” she says and walks back into her apartment. Steve follows, shutting the door behind him. He’s never been on her floor. The layout is nearly identical to his, except the two extra bedrooms are one room – an open spot with wide windows that show the cityscape, hard floors, and a sparring mat. In one corner is a mix of workout equipment. There’s a single punching bag hanging from the ceiling that Steve dutifully walks over to.

Natasha throws a couple hard punches. “So, what’s up?” she asks.

“Bucky told me,” Steve says.

“Told you what?”

“After everything, you’re still playing coy?”

“Old habits die hard.” She kicks at the bag and Steve has to step back a little to keep the bag from knocking him over.

“He told me he trained you. In the Red Room,” he clarifies.

“Oh. That,” she says. She sounds unmoved, but she’s avoiding eye contact.

“Yeah, that. Look, I’m not asking for details. I just want to know if you know anything I don’t.”

“Like what?” A series of punches land harder than before. She swipes at the sweat beading on her forehead.

“Anything. What was he like? Why was he there? How long were you with him? Why did he leave?”

Natasha sighs and places a hand against the bag to look at Steve. “Shouldn’t you be asking _him_ this?”

“He’s not talking to me,” Steve admits.

Something softens in Natasha’s expression. “What’d you do?”

Steve sniffs. “Pushed a little too hard? Tried to make him remember something he apparently wasn’t ready for.”

Natasha ruminates, chewing the inside of her cheek. “Okay, I’ll answer whatever questions you ask.” She walks over and grabs the water bottle against the wall, taking a long drink. “But you have to spar with me. Not now,” she adds when Steve starts to protest. “Tomorrow.”

“Fine,” Steve agrees.

“Okay, ask away.”

“I want to know everything,” Steve says. “Can’t you just start from the beginning?”

“Nope.”

Steve sighs. “When was he brought to the Red Room?”

“No idea.”

“Nat!” Steve pleads.

“I really don’t!” she insists. “I was 13 when I was recruited to the program and he was already there when I arrived. So, at least since 1997.”

Steve nods. “How long was he there after your arrival?”

“Two years.”

“What was his relationship to you?”

“Teacher.”

Steve raises his eyebrow, prompting Natasha for more, but she stares at him blankly. “What did he teach you?” he finally asks.

“How to survive.”

“Under whose authority?”

“KGB.”

“The Soviet Union was disbanded in 1991,” Steve points out.

“Sure,” Natasha agrees cryptically. 

“So Hydra wasn’t behind it?”

“I never said that.”

“Natasha, please,” Steve says, trying his best to look as desperate as he feels for answers.

She sighs and sits down cross-legged on the mat. Steve follows her lead, sitting across from her. 

“Hydra wasn’t behind the Red Room,” she says, “but I believe he was lent out to the KGB by Hydra.”

“Lent out? Like a… a book from the library?” White hot rage boils his veins at those words. Hydra has done a lot of unspeakably horrific things to Bucky, but treating him as less than human is one of the worst.

“He taught me and the others in the Black Widow Ops how to fight,” Natasha says. “Self-defense, later espionage and spy training. Even sniper tactics, which I hear was his specialty in the war.”

“I liked him,” she continues, and she looks almost wistful. “He was the only person there who showed any kindness. Any humanity. And I think I was his favorite.” She smiles as if there’s some inside joke Steve is missing.

“I think so, too,” Steve agrees.

She raises her eyebrows in surprise. “Did he say…?”

“No,” Steve says. “Well, not explicitly. He certainly had an affinity for you, though. Cared about your wellbeing.”

Natasha nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, I guessed as much. It explains why he risked everything to get me out.”

“What’d he do?”

“He was a teacher, yes, but he was also working covert ops for the KGB at the time. And the last mission he received from them, he convinced them to let him have a partner. It was really stupid of them. Hydra may have brought them down singlehandedly, now that I think about it, just for almost losing their most prized possession. Still, he convinced them to let me tag along. 

“I was so scared,” Natasha recalls. “I mean, I didn’t show it. I was too well-taught for that. I was 15, though, and the only reason I didn’t throw myself in front of the first bullet I saw was because I trusted the Winter Soldier so thoroughly. I was right to, as it turned out. The mission went unaccomplished and we dropped off the radar. He brought me here, to New York, set me up with a job and told me to trust no one, stay out of sight, and never try to find him. Made me promise. He said if I ever saw him again, to run if I could and kill him if I had to.

“He was right to make me promise. I saw him a year later. The Red Room had sent him to collect what he’d left behind. But he’d taught me well. I was able to evade him long enough that Hydra must’ve gotten worried he’d been out too long. Although, according to that file you have, something more may have happened.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asks.

“In ‘99, Hydra sent him on a unnamed mission in Manhattan and he went missing for two weeks. They thought they’d lost him, but they finally found him in Brooklyn not knowing who he was or that he even had a mission, let alone that he was a trained assassin.”

“He relapsed that badly? After only two weeks?”

Natasha shrugs. “I’m just telling you what I read in that file.”

Steve sits back on his hands. “So, why haven’t you talked to him?”

“He made me promise, remember?” Natasha says, a smile pulling at her lips.

“Yeah, but that hardly applies now, does it?”

“Look, I’m not in the business of tearful reunions or sappy heart-to-hearts,” Natasha says. “If he wants to talk about what happened, I’m right here. But I’ve come to terms with it. I’ve moved on.”

Steve sighs. “All right,” he says. “Thanks for talking with me, Nat.”

He stands and holds out a hand to help her up which she takes. “Spar with me tomorrow in the gym, okay?” she says. “Ten o’clock, don’t be late.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replies, giving her a mock salute. She follows him to the door. He turns once he’s outside and the elevator doors open to let him in. “Permission to speak freely?” he asks with a small smile.

She narrows her eyes slightly at him. “Permission dubiously granted.”

“Talk to him. He’d like to know he’s got people on his side, I think, especially since…” Steve shakes his head slightly. “Well, he just needs another friendly face, I think. And the fact that you’re… female… helps.”

“Fuck off, Rogers,” she says and closes the door in his face.

  


* * *

  


Later that night, Jarvis interrupts Sam and Steve’s quiet argument regarding what to watch on Netflix: “Captain, your presence is requested in the lab. Mr. Stark has urgent news regarding the video footage Mr. Barton obtained from the Hydra base in Pennsylvania.”

“Thanks, Jarvis,” Steve says and exchanges a quick look with Sam before leaving the apartment for the lab. Bucky still hasn’t emerged from his room all day which isn’t difficult considering he has his own bathroom and mini-fridge in the room.

Tony’s at the back of the lab when Steve arrives, past a labyrinth of machinery, sitting in a rolling chair with his feet propped up on the metal table. He glances over when Steve enters. “Pull up a chair, Cap!” Tony says cheerily.

Steve finds a stool and drags it to sit next to Tony. “What’d you find?” Steve asks.

“The clone is still alive.” Steve turns and spots Natasha fiddling with a small, glowing orb. She walks over to the men looking serious.

“What?” Steve asks, looking from Tony to Natasha and back again.

“Well, we’re pretty sure,” Tony says. “Stripped the audio down, lowered that dickwad’s creeper voice so we can hear the background and…” Tony opens up a floating, translucent screen and presses a play button. Audio fills the room. It’s muffled and slightly distorted, but it’s clearly Russian and it’s clearly Poleznym. Steve wishes it didn’t sound so much like Bucky because whatever Poleznym is saying, he’s in pain.

“Shit,” Steve mutters. “They must’ve captured him. Shit, shit, _shit_.”

“Whoa there, buddy. What’s the big deal? Bad guys torturing bad guys doesn’t seem like that-“

“Poleznym isn’t _bad_ ,” Steve says. He looks over at Natasha, but she’s staring blankly at the screen with her arms crossed. “He saved us,” Steve explains. “He gave up his life without knowing anything about us, knowing that if he were captured, he’d be tortured. Without him, I’d still be there, do you understand that?”

“Well, yeah,” Tony says lamely. “But-“

“But nothing. We need to rescue him. I’m putting together a team.”

“Putting together a team will accomplish nothing if you don’t know where he is, Rogers,” Natasha says, her voice stern, but her eyes show something akin to sympathy. “Luckily, Stark got a lead.”

“Mm, thank you,” Tony says, and he pushes something on the screen. “We had Jarvis translate this nonsense. Your evil Russian mob boss should really learn to record in a soundproof area.” Tony presses something again and the audio plays.

“We’ll drop you in the river if you don’t shut up, Useless,” says an unfamiliar voice. Another man barks a laugh and adds: “Take him down to that quarry, yeah? No one goes lookin’ there.”

“A river and a quarry?” Steve says.

“Yeah, it’s vague, but it does narrow it down,” Tony says.

“Keep working,” Steve says.

“Yes, sir,” Tony replies, giving Steve a mock salute.

Steve excuses himself and heads back up to the apartment. Poleznym is alive. Steve thought he might feel relieved knowing that, but instead he’s filled with dread and guilt. He could’ve done something to save him, surely. Could’ve helped him escape, too, and break out of Hydra. Steve runs a hand over his face and steps into his apartment, wearily dropping down on the couch next to Sam.

“Everything okay?” Sam asks.

“No,” Steve answers. “Poleznym is alive. They’re torturing him.”

“Jeez. Sorry, man.”

“Yeah, but Tony’s closer to finding out where they’re holed up. And when he does, I’m shutting it down and, if I can, saving Poleznym.”

Sam nods. “I know. I wanna help.”

Steve looks at Sam curiously. “Why? Everyone else thinks I’m crazy for even thinking about saving him.”

Sam looks taken aback. “Cause you’re my friend?” he says. “And this is important to you and therefore it’s important to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm posting this right before i have to leave for a stupid office party so sorry for any grammar errors. i'll read it over when i get home or tonight or something. don't get an office job, kids. they make you interact with racist suburban moms and it's terrible.
> 
> however, GOOD NEWS, right?? poleznym is alive!


	28. Chapter 28

Steve doesn’t sleep well and wakes at five in the morning to go on a run around Central Park. He’s back by seven and makes himself breakfast. Sam shuffles into the kitchen while Steve eats about four servings of pancakes and eggs and reads the news on his StarkTablet. 

“Mornin’,” Steve greets.

“Mmph,” Sam replies and opens the fridge. He stands there for an inordinate amount of time. 

“Everything okay?” Steve asks after a good minute has passed.

“Yeah, I just swear I bought, like, ten things of yogurt yesterday? And now they’re gone.”

Steve puts down the tablet and looks at Sam curiously. “Bucky?”

Sam sighs. “Must be.” He raises his voice so Bucky can’t miss a word: “It would be nice if people just _asked_ before taking things outta the fridge that ain’t theirs!” He pulls out a half-empty carton of milk instead and heads over to the cereal cabinet. “I never thought I’d be doing the passive aggressive roommate thing again,” Sam tells Steve. “It’s kinda nice.”

Steve laughs.

“But that does remind me… I meant to point out something yesterday,” Sam says, taking a seat next to Steve at the bar.

“Yeah?”

“Bucky has the entirety of Stark Tower to hide away in. You offered him his own floor and he still hasn’t taken it.”

“Yeah, but he also hasn’t spoken to anyone,” Steve points out.

Sam shrugs. “All I’m saying is he’s had every opportunity to leave – leave this floor, leave the Tower – and he’s still here. There’s still hope, Steve. He’ll come around.”

Steve sighs and pushes the syrup on his plate around with his fork, watching it pool on one side. “Yeah,” he says eventually. 

Sam is looking at him, but Steve stares down at his plate. “What’re your plans for today, Cap?” Sam asks.

“I have a date.”

Sam chokes on his cereal and it takes a few seconds for him to ask, “What?”

Steve smiles at him. “Not that kinda date. I’m sparring with Nat this morning.”

“Shit, man!” Sam curses. “You had me thinkin’… Wait, you and Black Widow are sparring? What time?” Sam pulls out his phone. When Steve frowns and looks at him in confusion, Sam says, “Dude, I wouldn’t miss that for the world. And neither will anyone else, I’d be willing to bet.”

  


* * *

  


When Steve enters the communal gym at five ‘til ten – because he’s under no impression that Natasha was kidding about being late – almost everyone is already there. In fact, the only people missing are Bucky and Natasha herself. The bleachers on the side of the massive room are pulled out to accommodate the audience. Tony and Bruce are on the top with their feet propped on the seats in front of them. Tony has popcorn, but he’s throwing more at the back of Clint’s head than he’s eating. Betty is sitting next to Bruce, but they’re not touching and Bruce has a surly look on his face, contrasting with Betty’s determinedly happy one. Maria Hill is there, who Steve hadn’t realized returned from wherever she’d been off doing PR work for Stark, talking to Pepper animatedly on the bottom row of seats.

Steve is most surprised to see Thor sitting next to Clint, wearing civilian clothes. Steve walks up to him, holding out his hand. Thor takes it with a grim expression.

“Thor, good to see you,” Steve says.

“Captain,” Thor says seriously. “I got the Falcon’s message and came as fast as I could.”

“Uh, yeah, sorry ‘bout that,” Sam chimes in, walking over and taking a seat next to Thor. “Should’ve worded it better.”

Thor raises his eyebrows and then turns to Steve to ask, “You and Lady Natasha are not fighting to the death in a battle that will surely shake the very foundations of this great city?”

Steve gives Sam a withering look who shrugs and smiles back. 

“No, we’re just sparring,” Steve tells Thor.

Thor pauses then smiles wide. “Even better!” he exclaims. “Has anyone started a betting pool?”

“Way ahead of you,” Tony says. “It’s 4 to 1 in Romanoff’s favor. Care to wager, He-man?”

“The only monetary substance I have is Jane’s. It wouldn’t feel right spending-“

“What Jane won’t know won’t kill her,” Tony cuts in.

“I’m sorry, what were those odds?” Steve asks, putting his hands on his hips.

“Don’t get salty, Cap,” Tony chides as Thor digs out a wad of cash from his pocket. “We’ve all seen you fight.”

“But we also seen you take a metal fist to the face just ‘cause you didn’t wanna fight back,” Sam points out.

“They think you’ll go soft on me.” Steve starts when he hears Natasha’s voice right next to him. She’s dressed to kill – literally. She’s wearing her black, well-fitted jumpsuit. It looks strange without the utility belt and widow’s bites, leaving her almost naked-looking. 

Steve smiles at her. “Not a chance,” he says.

She smirks at him and heads to the middle of the gym, arms stretched over her head.

“I still bet on you,” Sam calls after Steve when he leaves to join Natasha on the floor. “If that helps.”

“It doesn’t, but thanks anyway,” Steve calls back. He hears Sam chuckle behind him.

  


* * *

  


Steve doesn’t plan on being soft, but Natasha – for all her skill and proficiency – is still 100 pounds lighter and remarkably breakable. So the first ten minutes all they do is size each other up, feinting once in awhile and grappling once or twice, but never long enough to hold the other down for a point. Natasha is a brilliant strategist, knows the people she’s fighting better than they do themselves, so when she finally launches herself at him, she moves too slowly and gets caught under Steve’s arm. That doesn’t seem fair, so Steve relents, but that’s what she’s counting on; she takes the opening to flip him backwards, using his own weight against him. He hits the mat with a muted thump and cheers erupt from the stands.

Steve huffs a laugh as Natasha grins down at him, thigh still pressing down on his windpipe.

“That’s how it’s gonna be?” he asks.

She smiles in response, rolling off of him and getting back into fighting stance. Fine, he decides. He’ll fight this the right way. If she wants to win, she’ll have to really try.

Natasha must know he’s not holding back, because she doesn’t play on his sympathy again. Instead, her attacks are subtle and well-timed, always waiting for him to make the first move so she can counterattack, always on the defensive until the perfect moment.

She gets him on the ground twice more, but each time he maneuvers his way out of her hold. Finally, 20 minutes into the match, he pins her for a point. They’re evenly matched now and she looks downright livid about it.

Natasha changes. She’s on the offensive now, jabbing and kicking, sliding out of reach at the last moment only to charge back in. She plays dirty, aiming for Steve’s groin a couple of times, which he avoids with a dignified yelp, much to the joy of the audience. The onlookers are generally loud, shouting suggestions or simply cheerleading. Thor is heard above all the rest, laughing jovially and commenting on Natasha’s dexterity.

But at some point the atmosphere changes. The spectators are subdued and Steve chalks it up to the change in tone of their match; it almost feels personal, like Natasha is trying to prove something. And Steve knows that if he lets her win, she’ll know in a second, so he fights hard. 

Too hard, as it turns out. He strikes the heel of his hand on her solar plexus and she falls back with a grunt. She lays there a moment too long and he runs over. “Nat? Natasha, are you all right?”

She heaves in two breaths, eyes staring up at the ceiling, before she clocks him right on the jaw sending him to the ground. She crawls over and locks his arms by his side before putting both hands on his windpipe and pushing down, not hard enough to block his breath, but enough that it’s only ten seconds before he taps out. There’s a smattering of applause, which is strange because Steve is sure that must’ve looked really embarrassing for him, something Tony should’ve been whooping and catcalling about.

Natasha stands and waits for Steve to get on his feet. Steve glances over to the bleachers and nothing seems out of place. Thor is standing to assumedly get a better vantage point so Tony’s switched to lobbing popcorn at him instead of Clint. Sam sits with Maria and Pepper now, all three staring determinedly ahead. Then Steve notices a dark figure, separate from the others and about halfway up the bleachers. It’s Bucky. He’s huddled into himself, still wearing Steve’s black hoodie, which is pulled up to cover most of his face. But he’s watching, that much is clear.

Steve’s feet go out from under him and the fall knocks the breath out of him. He rolls to the side to avoid a heel to the face and jumps back to his feet just in time to block the barrage of punches and kicks Natasha throws.

How long has Bucky been watching? Better question: why? Not that Steve minds. Honestly, he’s beyond pleased that they’re in the same room and insults aren’t being thrown. Steve would probably die right there on the mat if Bucky called him a fag again. 

The fact that Sam is pointedly not acknowledging Bucky’s presence means he didn’t directly ask Bucky to come, and maybe thinks Bucky being there isn’t the best idea. Whatever. Steve’ll take what progress he can get.

Steve feels a strange sense of determination flood his body with adrenaline. He strikes harder, faster, and without remorse. Natasha dodges most punches like a pro, rolling when they hit their mark to lessen the damage. But 10 minutes of this and she’s tired. She goes in for a risky killing blow and Steve hesitates just a second too long. He falls back, Natasha’s knee on his throat and hands trapped above his head. His vision turns dark around the edges, her red hair slipping out of view above him. Then suddenly he’s back, gasping for air and rolling over to cough oxygen into his lungs.

There’s a strange commotion, Sam and Tony racing toward him. He puts up a hand to let them know he’s okay, confused that they would think Natasha would actually hurt him. But then they run past Steve, toward…

Steve scrambles to his feet. Bucky has his metal arm pressed tightly against Natasha’s throat. She’s not touching the ground, braced against the wall, her hands digging uselessly against the metal plating of his arm.

“Bucky!” Steve yells, walking toward him cautiously. “Bucky, let her go. It’s okay. I’m okay, see? Bucky, look at me.”

Bucky’s jaw is clenched and his eyebrows are pushed together in concentration. He pushes Natasha harder against the wall and she tries to choke in air, but she can’t. Finally, she gets a foot up and kicks with all her might, sending him backward a step. She drops to the ground and heaves. Sam and Tony dart forward, blocking her from Bucky’s view. But Bucky isn’t looking at her, he’s looking at his own hands, eyes wide and terrified.

“Buck?” Steve asks quietly, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Bucky’s eyes dart up to meet Steve’s. “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

“It’s all right,” Steve replies. 

“I thought she was going to kill you. She- I know who she is and I thought…”

“I know,” Steve says.

“Things are different now, uchitel',” Natasha says. She looks perfectly fine, minus the red mark across her throat. “Ya po-drugomu.”

“Sorry,” Bucky says curtly and quickly leaves the gym.

  


* * *

  


Bucky hides himself in the room they call his. He slouches low in the armchair in the farthest corner from the door. The bathroom door is shut and he’s checked the walls in there thoroughly enough to know the only entrance point is the bedroom door. He glares at the wooden frame until the pounding in his head lessens.

He shouldn’t have gone downstairs, isn’t sure what even compelled him in the first place. This is a lie, he notes absentmindedly. He was compelled, as per usual, by Steve. This doesn’t make a whole lot of sense seeing as Steve is equally the reason he hides and the reason he feels the need to _try_. That constant pull – between seclusion and community – is painfully strong. Bucky digs his heels in.

He’s not sure how long he sits staring at the door before a knock sounds on the other side. If he’d been paying attention, he’d know who it is by their footsteps, but now he can only guess: Sam or Steve? Each is likely, he thinks, but it’s probably Sam.

The handle turns and Natalia steps through. She leaves the door open – a means of escape for her. She puts her hands on her hips and cocks an eyebrow at him.

He frowns at her, but she alone seems unaffected by what he’s heard Sam call his “death glare.”

“We should talk,” Natalia says.

She is remarkably unchanged, considering how much older she must be. Her expression is familiar and severe, eyes searching and cold to any unaccustomed to the gaze. In reality, Bucky knows her to be caring. Calculating, sure, but marvelously empathetic. 

“Natalia-“

She puts up a hand and he stops. “Don’t apologize. That’s not what I came here to talk about.”

He waits impatiently for her to continue. She leans nonchalantly against the doorframe. “We have history,” she says slowly. “And we should talk about it sometime. _Not now_ ,” she insists when Bucky opens his mouth to speak. “But soon. I just want you to know that no one here wants to see you fail.”

Bucky clenches his jaw. “What the hell does that mean?” he snaps, harsher perhaps than she deserves. She’s unfazed. 

“It means that you are surrounded by people who give a shit, so don’t throw that away.”

“I’m not-“

“Bullshit,” she counters, pointing one slim finger at him. “You made Steve feel like shit. Don’t do that. Guy’s been through enough on your behalf.”

Bucky scoffs. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

She shrugs and smiles. “Maybe not. But I’ve met a lot of people in my life and almost everyone has ulterior motives. Steve is one of the few who doesn’t. He wants to help you and he’s willing to take the brunt of your childish outbursts to make it happen. And I’m telling you if it happens again, you and I will be having another conversation.”

Bucky stares at Natalia for a long moment before cracking a smile. She tries not to look amused by the uncharacteristic look, but she struggles. She finally looks down and smiles. “You haven’t lost your touch, you know,” she says, looking back up at him and cocking her head to the side slightly.

“What?”

“You lack finesse, uchitel’. You’re out of practice.”

He snorts a laugh. “I wasn’t exactly thinking when I…” He frowns again, embarrassed by his actions.

“Well, we’ll have to work on that, won’t we?” she says. 

He perks up, oddly excited about the prospect. She must pick up on his reaction because she adds, “How about tomorrow? I’ll be out all day, but tomorrow night I’m free. Seven o’clock in the gym?”

Bucky’s mouth actually hangs open for a moment. “I… Is that a good idea?”

Natasha shrugs. “If you’re worried, ask Sam about it. He can be there, if you want. Or Steve.”

“I’ll ask Sam,” Bucky decides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm once again posting this right before I leave, which means there may be more errors than usual. I'll read it later, promise. My dad's health is failing so I'm heading home right after work to be with family. Good times, I tell ya.
> 
> Bucky/Natasha sparring is imminent.


	29. Chapter 29

Steve and Sam are halfway through _Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog_ when Bucky clears his throat behind them. He’s standing awkwardly at the end of the hall, staring at his feet.

“Uh. Hey,” Sam says and he exchanges a quick, confused look with Steve.

“Wanna join us?” Steve asks politely.

Bucky looks at him, then at the spot on the couch between them, before shaking his head.

“No. I, uh, needed to… Wanted to apologize.” He’s looking everywhere but at Steve: the TV, the kitchen, the floor, the ceiling, the far wall, the front door. 

“Uh,” Steve says lamely.

“For calling you those… things,” Bucky continues. His right hand grips his left so hard his knuckles turn white. “I didn’t… mean them.”

Steve’s heart quickens. “Oh,” he says. “It’s okay.” Steve can see Sam smiling widely next to him.

“Okay,” Bucky says and retreats back to his room.

“Well, that was interesting,” Sam comments. He turns back to the TV and continues watching. Steve misses most of it, lost in thought as he is about Bucky’s apology.

  


* * *

  


After Bucky’s apology, things go back to relative normalcy. Bucky doesn’t hole up in his room, but he’s not Chatty Kathy, either. Steve tries to set up his own schedule, spending a limited time out in the world before heading back to the Tower to exercise himself into sleepiness, then either crashing on a couch on the common floor, idly watching whatever flick someone’s chosen for the night, or on his own couch, waiting for Sam to return from the VA. Sam’s picked up extra sessions since their workload is currently nonexistent while Tony keeps his ear to the ground for Hydra appearances.

About a week after his apology, Steve returns from his morning run to an ostensibly empty Tower. After showering, he traipses around his floor to find it’s empty. Strangely enough, the common floor is empty, too. That usually wouldn’t concern him; everyone has a life outside of the Avengers. Everyone, that is, except Bucky. 

“Jarvis, where is everyone?” Steve asks, staring around the common floor with concern.

“Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner are in the lab on the bottom floor. Mr. Barton is, remarkably, at his own home. Miss Potts and Miss Hill are in conference room C with dignitaries from Belgium. Dr. Ross is in Dr. Banner's apartment on the 12th floor. Miss Romanoff and Mr. Barnes are in the gymnasium on the seventh floor.”

Steve heads to the elevator and punches the button for the seventh floor.

The door opens silently onto the gym. Steve steps out onto the waxy floor, careful not to make a sound because he doesn’t want to disturb them. Natasha and Bucky are _sparring_. It’s hard to tell who has the upperhand at first. A couple minutes of observation reveal that neither is trying to best the other. Rather, they’re going slow, testing one another like feral cats meeting for the first time. Stalking and feinting, testing the waters before pulling back again, unharmed.

Steve walks farther into the room and sits on the bottom row of bleachers. From this distance he can hear snippets of their banter, entirely in Russian but clearly good-humored as Natasha laughs loudly at one point. Ten minutes go by and Steve’s sure Natasha has noticed him by the way she positions herself to face him, keeping Bucky’s back to Steve. 

Without warning, both of their movements pick up, become harsher and more determined. A minute of grappling later and Natasha has him pinned to the mat. Bucky chokes out something in Russian and Natasha rolls off. He lays there and she sits next to him, both of them just breathing. Natasha holds out her hand and he takes it to sit up. She says something and laughs. Bucky rolls his eyes. It must be something about his hair because she pushes back the strands falling in front of his face and then pats his cheek. 

That’s when he looks up and finally spots Steve. His eyebrows rise slightly, but he doesn’t say anything. 

“Care to join us?” Natasha calls over to Steve, turning to smile.

“Nah,” Steve says, standing and walking over to them. “A lot more fun to watch.”

Natasha hums a reply and takes Steve’s hand when he offers it to her. Bucky stands on his own. 

“She had you pretty well beat,” Steve comments to Bucky. 

Bucky sniffs. “Had ‘er on the ropes,” he replies.

Steve bursts into laughter, which takes Natasha aback but Bucky smiles almost shyly, rubbing the back of his neck.

  


* * *

  


Apparently sparring with Bucky isn’t a new thing to anyone but Steve. Natasha is a regular, but Bucky’s gone to the in-house shooting range with Clint, has gone head-to-head with Sam, and even tried his luck against one of Tony’s more disposable suits. Again, Steve finds himself slightly _jealous_ : a strange emotion to have considering how genuinely delighted he is that Bucky’s trust has extended to the rest of Steve’s teammates. Still, why hasn’t Bucky asked him to spar? Better yet, why hasn’t Bucky stayed in a room with Steve longer than he absolutely has to? It seems that as soon as social niceties are done (Hey. Hi. How are you? Fine. Good.) Bucky is gone.

Steve doesn’t have long to ruminate, because Tony gets a solid lead on Hydra’s whereabouts. By now everyone is equally as invested in this mission as Steve is, albeit for different reasons. As soon as Jarvis gives the command to suit up, everyone – sans Thor, who returned to Jane’s side in Boston not long after Steve’s match with Natasha – gets their gear and meets on the helipad. The quinjet is already running when Steve arrives. Tony is speaking with Natasha in the cockpit in his Iron Man suit. Clint is holding out a hand to help Sam into the back. 

That’s when Bucky walks right past Steve toward the quinjet. It takes Steve a good few seconds to register his presence before bounding forward and grabbing Bucky by the shoulder to stop him. “Bucky, what are you doing?” Steve has to yell over the sound of the powerful engines.

Bucky steels his expression, juts out his jaw in that all-too-familiar way that means he’s decided something and will be hard-pressed to change his mind.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” Steve asks, not letting his hand drop from Bucky’s shoulder.

“He’s been cleared by Maria herself!” comes Tony’s reply. His suit clangs loudly on the cement roof of the building as he joins them.

Steve drops his hand and looks at Tony curiously. “When did that happen?”

“Time and place, Cap! Let’s go!” Tony flies off, leaving Steve with more questions than answers. But Tony’s right; he needs to focus on the mission at hand. And if Bucky’s willing to help, then who is Steve to deny him that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah it's been awhile, hasn't it? Well count yourselves lucky because the time between postings of that Notebook AU I wrote was MONTHS. 
> 
> The last time I posted I said I was headed home to be with my dad and fam cause he wasn't doing well and he passed away that same night. Not gonna go into it; if you wanna know, you can probably futz your way around my tumblr for answers, because I really never intended for this thing to become a weird diary??? lmao
> 
> so that was last week. obviously spent that whole week with family, doin funeral things. then THIS WEEK, i got the flu. because the universe loves me. so i haven't been at work, therefore i couldn't write. (i also haven't been LUCID, but whatever.) I'm back at work, but i've got actual work to catch up on so who knows when i'll really get back into the swing of things. i have some DEFINITE plans for this. brainstorming all the time. 
> 
> i also brainstormed while i had a fever??? so that was.......... really inappropriate and weird tbh. one of the tamer ones involved asthma cigarettes so there ya go. smh @ sick me
> 
> as always, thank you guys for sticking with this thing. it's so fucking long how did this even happen??? i can't wait to wrap this up (not that i don't love writing it - i do) because i've got newborn plans for an AU that actually isn't based on a film. SHOCKING. okay i'm really signing off now. blame all grammar/continuity/whatever errors on my sick-addled mind.


	30. Chapter 30

When they were kids, Bucky and Steve liked to pretend they were superheroes. They could fly, shoot lasers out of their eyes, crush rocks with their bare hands. They’d write down an assortment of abilities on torn slips of newspaper and pick two or three out of a hat to start the game. By the end, after having run themselves ragged, they’d collapse onto the summer-hot streets of Brooklyn and laugh for what felt like hours.

Sitting in the quinjet across from Bucky, Steve wanted nothing more than to be able to read minds. Bucky is stoic, blank-faced, possibly determined? It’s hard to tell anymore, which is distressing to Steve who had always been able to read him like a book. Bucky had never been exceptionally emotive, at least not when he didn’t want to be. But Steve had grown up staring at every pore, learning every quirk and flinch and twitch as if it were his own. 

Now, Bucky is a pillar of rock, a blank and unreadable slate, infuriatingly difficult and quite possibly impossible to read. Bucky catches Steve staring and cocks an eyebrow. Steve smiles in reply and Bucky turns away, eyes front, shoulders back, soldiering on.

Steve lets out a breath and the noise is swallowed by the jet. 

The quinjet lands in a forest on the outskirts of an industrial town in Pennsylvania. According to Tony’s briefing on the way over, Hydra’s base is in the town itself, probably underground. The schematics Tony dug up are wildly outdated and no doubt Hydra has adapted its needs to the surroundings.

Tony flies ahead with Sam and his newly-fixed wings close behind as the others walk toward the edge of town. Steve leads the way. At his side is Natasha followed closely by Clint and Bucky. Bruce is last, looking grave and slightly nervous.

Steve stops at the edge of the trees to scout the abandoned ten square miles that make up a majority of the town, all graffiti-ed and abandoned to nature. 

Suddenly, a resounding boom echoes through the area and a cloud of smoke appears a quarter of a mile ahead of them, exactly where the Hydra base is supposed to be.

“They knew we were coming!” Sam shouts, voice overly loud in Steve’s ear piece.

“We’re on our way!” Steve calls back and they run toward the building. Gunshots sound, becoming clearer the closer they get to the building. Chaos erupts as they reach the building. Steve tells Clint and Nat to go one way while he and Bucky break right. Bruce stops in the middle of the firefight, buckling over before bursting at the seams, turning green and letting out a tremendously loud roar. Steve learned early on that the Hulk doesn’t take directives well; he’s better left to his own devices.

Steve stops at the side entrance that had been marked on the blueprints as a possible entrance. Steve glances up just in time to see Tony take out two armed gunmen off the roof. Even more pour out from the rooftop across the street and one knocks Sam out of the air with what must be a small missile. 

“Sam!” Steve calls out, taking a step forward. He’s yanked back and comes face-to-face with Bucky.

“C’mon,” Bucky says. Using his metal arm, he breaks off the door handle and pushes it open. He’s carrying a handgun, and he must have eight or nine others on his person as well as an assortment of knives. Steve would be lying if he said it didn’t make him queasy. At least the outfit itself is different from the one he wore while working for Hydra. His new suit is all sleek blacks and seamless pockets more akin to Natasha’s outfit than Steve’s. 

Bucky crouches once inside. It’s dark, too dark to see more than 10 feet ahead given the light from the open door. Steve takes out his flashlight and shines it forward. They’re standing on a grated bridge overlooking a warehouse floor. They immediately head toward the stairs.

There’s further commotion above them, but all’s quiet below on the cold cement floor of the building. According to the schematics, this is the basement floor, but Steve’s willing to bet there’s more. 

“Sam’s good!” Tony’s voice sounds in Steve’s ear, too loud in the quiet dark of the basement.

Steve lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Steve, you in?” Natasha asks. Wherever she is, there’s a lot of gunfire. 

“Yeah. All clear,” Steve replies, pressing his finger on the earpiece. “I think,” he adds. He holds his shield a little bit closer.

“Something’s not right about this,” Natasha says.

“What do you-?” Steve begins, but he stops mid-sentence when Bucky abruptly turns to him, gun raised, and fires a single shot. The bullet whizzes past, close enough to Steve’s cheek that he feels the heat from it, and imbeds itself in the skull of a gunmen just behind him. 

“A little warning next time!” Steve shouts, turning to look at the body.

“Couldn’t afford it,” Bucky replies and continues forward into the dark. Steve trails the light across the floor and up the walls, but they find nothing.

“All good, Rogers?” Natasha asks and there’s a distinct lack of gunfire on her end now.

“All clear,” Steve says.

“Hey,” Bucky says and Steve jogs to his side. Bucky’s metal fingers are lodged into what looks like part of the wall. Upon closer inspection, it’s actually a bendable plastic sheet that perfectly matches the walls, almost seamless. Bucky tears it off and throws it behind them, revealing a door.

“We found something,” Steve says into his earpiece. “A door. We’re going in.”

“Wait for backup!” Sam shouts.

Steve wants to agree, but then Bucky opens the door and steps through. Steve follows close behind. “We’re going on ahead,” Steve says and tries not to feel too bad about the barrage of advice he gets from his teammates, telling him to stop being an idiot and stay put.

“You should wait for them,” Bucky says, stopping abruptly in the dark.

“Not likely,” Steve counters and Bucky continues on without a word. The light from Steve’s flashlight reveals an empty hallway. They make it to the end and turn right. It’s wider and a single, yellow fluorescent light flickers at the end. Two dark figures lay slumped against the wall.

“Dead,” Bucky announces quietly as they inch closer. 

“What the hell…?” Steve wonders.

There’s a single doorway at the end of the hall, locked with an ancient keypad. 

“If I break this, it might go into lockdown,” Bucky says and turns to Steve. Steve fishes out his Starkphone and lines up the sensor. It traces the keypad, gives the four-digit code, and Steve punches it in. The door swings in with a deafening creak, revealing a small, all-too familiar room. 

Steve immediately turns to Bucky and puts both hands on his shoulders. “Buck, don’t look. Turn around and-“

Bucky shrugs off Steve’s hands and frowns. “I’m fine,” he says sharply.

Steve relents, backs up a step, and stares at Bucky a moment. Bucky does look okay, at least for the time being. Steve turns back to the room.

One machine, a chair built for torture, is sickeningly familiar – the twin of the one currently sitting in Tony’s storeroom – looking well-used. There’s also a large, metal, upright box in the far corner that Steve doesn’t recognize, and across from it a table with scattered papers and an old computer. Steve takes out a thumbdrive and presses it into the computer. It beeps on and Steve leaves it to upload files.

Bucky walks – calmly, pointedly – toward the chair and runs the fingertips of his flesh-and-blood hand over the armrest. He paces over to the metal box next, tips his head to the side slightly as he looks. He puts up his metal hand and taps on the small, glass window at the front. It’s then that Steve realizes he _has_ seen this machine. Tony said it was likely the containment cell they kept Bucky in cryostasis with. There were crude drawings of it and pieces of it in photos within Bucky’s file.

Another beep sounds and Steve takes the thumbdrive back. “We should go,” Steve tells Bucky.

Bucky shifts, his muscles tense, and his metal fist flies, cracking the thick glass on the front of the box. The next hit deepens the crack and the third shatters it. Bucky cries out and hits it again and again. The power in his arm is astounding – Steve’s felt it firsthand. The metal gives under Bucky’s fist and each hit sends out another cry of anguish from Bucky. Finally, he uses all of his strength to tip the thing over. It crashes onto its side, the door flies open, and a body tumbles out. Smoke rises from the chamber, evanescing around the body. Steve rushes forward and turns the body, terrified of who it could be, knowing if they haven’t found Poleznym yet...

Steve stares down into the open, empty eyes of Alexei Domashev. His neck, though cold and frozen, shows bruising and his vertebrae sticks out at an odd angle. 

“He’s dead,” Steve says, standing back up. “Neck was broken.”

Bucky’s still breathing heavily, shoulders rising and falling quickly. “Good,” Bucky says, head bowed, face obscured by his hair.

“Bucky,” Steve says softly.

“Don’t!” Bucky snaps and holds out a hand to stop Steve from coming any closer.

“Position, Rogers?” Natasha voice buzzes loudly in Steve’s ear.

“Sub-basement floor.”

“We’re on our way.”

Bucky collapses back against the wall, hands hanging off his knees. That’s when Steve notices the faint drip of red coming from Bucky’s right hand. He falls forward in front of Bucky immediately and looks at the damage. “Jesus, Buck,” Steve curses, turning the hand gingerly.

“It’s fine.”

“You’ve broken your hand,” Steve intones.

Bucky doesn’t reply and a minute later, Natasha bursts through the door followed closely by Clint. She immediately catches sight of Steve and Bucky on the ground before tracing the perimeter. She comes to a stop over Bucky, hands on her hips.

“What happened?” she asked.

“It’s Alexei,” Steve replies, looking over at the lifeless form a few feet away. “I don’t know who killed him.”

“Not talking about Alexei,” Natasha snaps angrily. She motions to Bucky. “What happened to him?”

“I’m fine,” Bucky growls and Natasha rolls her eyes.

Clint stands awkwardly by the door, his bow holding most of the weight on his right side. “Guys? Should we…?” he says.

“Yeah,” Natasha concedes. “We need to get out of here. There must be a thousand grunts. There’s only so much we can do.”

“I mean, that guy was the boss, right?” Clint asks, motioning toward Alexei. “So, like, mission accomplished?”

“There’ll always be more Alexeis,” Natasha replies morosely. She grabs Bucky by the elbow and helps him up. Steve leads the way out.

  


* * *

  


Steve isn’t sure who he should be more concerned about: Bucky or Bruce. Bruce is pressed against the seat of the cockpit, shaking relentlessly and staring into deadspace by his feet. This isn’t new; he’s raw and unhinged after the transformation, like an exposed nerve. He flinches at every word spoken, every slight turn of the otherwise smooth flight on the quinjet back to the Tower.

Bucky is despondent. Again, not unusual, but his hand is still bleeding and swollen. Steve can’t even see the full extent of the damage because of the half-glove he’s wearing. But the wounds will heal, no matter how bad it looks. It’s the fact that he did it in the first place that has Steve grinding his teeth and wringing his hands like a worried mother. Because if Bucky had dissociated, had beaten that machine to scrap metal not knowing he was hurting himself, that would be one thing. But Steve is sure Bucky knew exactly what he was doing, knew he was hurting himself, and just _didn’t care_. That scares Steve more than he thought possible.

Tony and Sam had stayed behind to clean up any stragglers, see if anymore were coming in the form of backup. The only thing they got was a short message from Tony: “We caught one. We’re taking him in for questioning. He’s- ah shit.” At which point the detainee bites into the Hydra-mandated cyanide capsule and kills himself. 

“Figures,” Clint says with a sigh.

The quinjet lands on the roof and the team files off, quiet and tired and not sure of what they’ve accomplished, if anything. Well, that’s not entirely true; Alexei is dead. And Poleznym is MIA. That’s probably good news. But Natasha’s right; there’s always another Alexei.

Steve heads down to his floor, accompanied by a solemn, quiet Bucky. Steve drops his helmet by the door and kicks off his boots. Bucky immediately heads for the hallway, but Steve calls after him: “Kitchen. Now.”

Bucky tenses, then relents, shoulders sagging as he turns back and he takes a seat at the four-person table that gets more use as a shelf than a place to eat. Steve rifles through the glorified junk drawer in their small kitchen and finds the first aid kit. He also grabs a washcloth and wets it with warm water. He pulls out a chair and sits across from Bucky.

“Can you take the glove off?” Steve asks.

Bucky stares at his right hand for a long moment before reaching over with his left hand to slide the glove off. Bucky barely winces even though it must be incredibly painful. He puts the glove on the table and Steve assesses the damage. His pinky and ring finger are dislocated but not broken and he’s torn off an entire layer of skin from the top of his knuckles to the middle of the back of his hand. The bleeding has stopped for the most part, but it’s made a dried mess on his hands and arm. 

“Your fingers are dislocated. Do you want me to-?” Before Steve can even finish asking, Bucky snaps the two fingers back into place with his left hand. 

Steve sighs and picks up the damp washcloth. He takes Bucky’s hand without asking, without looking him in the eye because Steve wants to help and he’s afraid Bucky will say no. Steve puts Bucky’s hand half on his left knee and holds the other half in his left hand while he cleans up the dried blood, being more careful around the raw, open wounds. Bucky doesn’t protest.

A minute of quiet passes, the only sound the soft swiping of the towel against Bucky’s red, raw skin. “I’m sorry,” Bucky says quietly and Steve pauses.

“For what?” Steve asks, continuing his work. He’s got most of the blood cleaned up now, he just has to disinfect the wounds. 

Bucky shakes his head slightly. “You’re angry.”

“I’m not,” Steve says.

“You are,” Bucky insists and Steve can feel his eyes trained on the top of his head. 

“I’m _not_ ,” Steve repeats and puts the cloth on the table to stare at Bucky. “I’m not angry. I’m…,” he lets out a breath, “scared.”

Bucky’s eyebrows pinch together in confusion. “Why?”

Steve pulls an antiseptic wipe out of the first aid kit and dabs around the wound. Again, Steve is surprised by Bucky’s nonreaction to what has to be a stinging pain, but maybe he shouldn’t be; Bucky’s been taught to endure a lot worse.

“Because you hurt yourself.”

“In the line of duty-“

Steve scoffs. “The line of duty?” he says and pulls the gauze out from the kit. “Bucky, you punched the shit out of a metal box without regard to your personal safety. Do you have _any_ sense of self-preservation? At all?” Steve is almost yelling now and he should feel bad the way Bucky shrinks away like a beaten dog, but all he can see right now is the ridiculous amount of blood on the white washcloth on the table. 

Steve wraps Bucky’s hand expertly and tapes it down. It’s another long minute later when Bucky says, “That’s rich comin’ from you, Rogers.”

Steve’s eyes snap up to meet Bucky’s. “What’re you talking about?”

Steve is finished wrapping Bucky’s hand, but Bucky doesn’t pull it away so Steve doesn’t move.

“I’m talking about Seth Gerwin in 8th grade or Randy in 10th or what about that entire fucking group of seniors when you were only, what, 13?”

“14,” Steve corrects.

“Whatever. They were _all_ big metal boxes and you punched the shit out of them without _regard to your personal safety_. Jesus, you have no idea just how hypocritical you sound, do you?”

Steve is halfway between vilified and shocked, shocked that Bucky remembers that much, all those familiar names Steve certainly didn’t read in Bucky’s notebook, that he couldn’t have read about online.

“That was different,” Steve counters.

Bucky rolls his eyes and finally takes his hand back. He flexes it. The gauze makes it difficult to do, but no doubt it’ll be healed in a few days. 

“I’ve been sitting where you are far too many times to think I can convince you otherwise, but you’re wrong,” Bucky replies, staring down at his hands.

“It _is_ different,” Steve insists because he needs to get this point across. “I picked those fights for a reason. You might’ve seen it as stupid or foolhardy, but to me it was important. I didn’t do it to- to hurt myself. I would’ve never hurt myself on purpose.”

Bucky stares at Steve, his mouth falling open slightly. “ _That’s_ what you think happened?” Bucky asks, incredulous. “You think I hurt myself _on purpose_?”

Steve doesn’t reply, but he matches Bucky’s glare. “Isn’t it?” Steve asks evenly.

Bucky looks offended. “No!” he snaps.

Steve isn’t convinced and it must show on his face because Bucky groans. He stands up and paces into the kitchen and back out again, his left hand pushing back the hair that’s fallen loose around his face. 

“Why are you so upset about this?” Steve asks desperately.

Bucky stops. “Because I’ve- I’m better, Steve, don’t you see that? I’m _better_ , but you still think I would hurt myself?”

“Maybe I’d know more about where your head was if you gave me the time of day!” Steve shoots back.

“That’s not fair,” Bucky says.

“Pardon the interruption, gentlemen," Jarvis interrupts, "but Mr. Stark has returned and is asking for Captain Rogers’ presence in his lab immediately."

Steve doesn’t stop glaring at Bucky when he replies, “I’ll be right down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're actually much closer to the end than I thought. Yesterday I wrote a VERY TOUCHING and VERY IMPORTANT scene so that'll be the next chapter, I do believe. And then things sorta shift into place. There are so many dangling threads, some things more important than others, that will get answered one way or another. I even have ideas for a couple of one-shots to make this a series of sorts.
> 
> I haven't gotten to reply to all the comments on the last chapter so I'll do that now, but I just wanted to say thank you guys so much for reading and commenting. It genuinely brightens my day. Writing is cathartic, first and foremost, but it's nice to know you're not the only one totally lost on these fuckin' boobs and their loser love for each other.


	31. Chapter 31

“I only want you for your flashdrive, Cap!” Tony calls out as soon as Steve steps into the lab. Steve had forgotten about that. He digs it out of his belt and hands it over to Tony who takes it with a flourish. He stabs it into the nearest computer and turns to face Steve again, arms crossed. “So, I thought our little cyberman did okay out there, don’t you?”

“Look, Tony, if that’s all, I really want to take a shower,” Steve says.

Tony frowns slightly. “Yeah, sure thing. Uh, but listen, Steve.” Steve raises an eyebrow at that. Tony rarely calls him by his first name, and it usually means he’s trying to be sincere. “About the whole… mano-a-mano thing.”

“What?” 

“Y’know,” Tony says awkwardly. “The fact that everyone and their mother has gone hand-to-hand with your boy except you? We’ve all noticed.”

“I don’t mind,” Steve says.

“Yeah, sure you don’t,” Tony says, clearly unconvinced. “Anyway, my point is that you should just give him some time. He’s come a long way from scary homeless assassin to somewhat unstable but I’m-not-afraid-to-sleep-with-the-lights-off-anymore ally.”

“Yeah, thanks, Tony,” Steve says weakly and excuses himself.

He’s not surprised to find that Bucky has disappeared into his bedroom. Sam’s back; Steve can hear the shower going in his room and his shoes are kicked off next to Steve’s by the front door. 

Steve sits on the couch, still in his suit, and tries to make himself feel better. Because the fact of the matter is, he feels guilty about yelling at Bucky. Maybe he should’ve been paying closer attention. It’s only been a month since they were kidnapped and in all that time, Steve feels as though the rapport he’s built with Bucky is uneven at best. Some moments feel like victories while others feel like entire road trips in the wrong direction. Should Steve really feel _guilty_ for assuming Bucky was doing worse than he apparently is? He was surprised that Bucky was cleared by Maria to fight, surprised that Bucky even wanted to fight in the first place, but what massive puzzle piece is he missing in all this? What did the rest of his team clearly see that he didn’t? 

And that’s all beside the fact that it’s _only been a month_. Steve is hesitant to believe Bucky is better, _all_ better when it’s been so short a time. Plus, he punched a big, glorified cooler until he bled, so Steve’s got the evidence to back up his doubt.

That’s why Steve feels guilty, he realizes. He’s the only one who _doubts_. Who can look at Bucky and wonder what’s really going on in that thick head of his. Everyone else takes him at face value; strangers always have. With such a charming smile, how could anything even remotely gloomy exist in that mind? 

Steve knew better. 

Steve _knows_ better.

Bucky isn’t as healed as he’s pretending to be. What progress he has made is remarkable, Steve will give him that, but he’s not about to turn a blind eye and let Bucky hide away in his ability to fool others.

  


* * *

  


Steve is determined to talk to Bucky, to make him talk about what’s really going, which is why Bucky becomes exceedingly scarce over the next few days. The only time Steve even sees Bucky at all is when they’re surrounded by other people. Steve’s halfway convinced he’s going to have to stage an intervention and let anyone there just listen in because it’s driving him insane the way Bucky avoids him. It doesn’t help that almost everyone at this point has pulled Steve aside to tell him how _good_ Bucky is, how _well-adapted_ and _healthy_ he looks, how _different_ he acts since he first came.

Steve doesn’t buy a word of it, Bucky knows that, and here they are.

Sam, at least, agrees to a certain extent. 

“I gotta take him at his word,” Sam admits over breakfast one morning. “You, on the other hand, got years of practice reading his moods. If you say he’s hiding the trauma, then yeah, he’s probably hiding his trauma. But that doesn’t mean a ton of progress hasn’t been made. He’s made huge steps. I mean, _huge_.”

“I know, I know,” Steve says with a sigh. “I just wish he’d talk to me.”

  


* * *

  


Bucky doesn’t sleep much, doesn’t need to. Steve gets six, sometimes eight hours of sleep most nights, so Bucky knows he _could_ , but he doesn’t want to. He can’t. The people in this building take the million and one security protocols and high-tech alarm systems to mean safety, when all Bucky sees are a million and one ways to infiltrate, invade, destroy right from the heart of the thing.

So he doesn’t sleep. He stares out the window, he reads a lot, writes in his notebooks when a particularly sharp memory comes back to him. He has five notebooks now, all filled. Memories have been coming back more and more over the past few weeks, sometimes flickering, gone before he can retain them, but more often remaining. There are so many now, two lifetimes at odds with one another trying to hole up in the same damn room like infuriating roommates in Bucky’s already damaged mind. 

Bucky sees the figure on the sidewalk across the street and is immediately struck by how odd it is. Rather, he’s struck by how unassuming the person is, and therefore it strikes Bucky as odd. All black, hands in pockets, hood pulled over; it’s hardly uncommon for a New Yorker at night, but this person – a man, Bucky decides – is standing there, staring right at the Tower. 

No, he’s staring right at _Bucky_.

Bucky knows it’s impossible; these windows are reflective, especially at night, and yet…

Bucky immediately gets up and heads for the door, then stops abruptly. He goes to the bookshelf, tears out a page from one of the many blank journals Sam has gifted him, and scribbles “GONE OUT”, throwing the page on his bed; he’ll be damned if Steve has another unprecedented heart attack on his account.

The AI asks him his destination and Bucky ignores it. He half expects to walk around the corner of the building and find the sidewalk empty, another trick of the mind; it wouldn’t be the first time. But the man is still there. He stands painfully still, in that practiced way soldiers have.

Bucky approaches with caution and stops several feet away from him. “What do you want?” Bucky asks. His fingers twitch, wanting to reach for the knife by his side, but thinks better of it.

The man tsks and pushes the hood off his face. 

“Well, I _was_ hoping for Steve.” Poleznym gives Bucky a wry smile. 

“Poleznym,” Bucky says evenly.

“Good evening, Barnes,” Poleznym greets. “Or should I say morning? It must be close to three by now.” Poleznym frowns slightly into the night sky as if the stars show the time.

Bucky shifts slightly, uncomfortable in the cold air. “What do you want?” he asks again.

“To speak with you. I’m sure the great kapitan has told you already, but I figured a home visit wouldn’t hurt.”

“Told me what?”

Poleznym’s ever-present smile falters slightly. “Surely you took the files from the base?”

“Yes,” Bucky replies. “Yes, but I haven’t looked at them. Why?”

Poleznym hums thoughtfully. “I’m dying,” he says simply.

Bucky bites back the harsh reply he wants to make, remembering that this abomination _did_ save his and Steve’s lives. “What do you mean?” Bucky asks instead.

“They made that new serum. The one they did _all_ that testing on Stevie for?” Poleznym’s voice is so pleasant, so sickly sweet it makes Bucky queasy listening to him. “And they gave it to me. It was too much. Rapid cellular regrowth, enhanced age progression; turns out they still got it wrong.” Poleznym shrugs and pulls the black coat tighter around himself. He’s slim, much smaller than he should be, especially given how many layers he’s wearing and Bucky actually feels a little sorry for him.

“How long?” Bucky asks.

Again, Poleznym shrugs. “A day? A week? A year? Ten years? Don’t know, don’t really care.”

“You could stay here.” It’s an empty offer, one Bucky knows Poleznym is going to refuse, but he also knows it’s what Steve would do in this situation.

Poleznym laughs. “No.” He looks wistfully up at the Tower, at where Bucky knows his window is. “No, that would not be wise, I think.”

“Why not? Stark could help. Or Banner.”

“I’m sure they could,” Poleznym says, inclining his head politely. “I don’t doubt your friends’ abilities, nor their integrity, but I can’t be saved. Not really. My body, maybe,” he concedes, “but not my mind.”

Bucky shakes his head before he knows what he’s doing. “No, they can help with that, too. I’ve been there. Hydra made me a weapon, too, and these people…”

Bucky doesn’t realize how close they’re standing until Poleznym reaches out both hands and clasps Bucky on either side of his face. His fingers are cold and delicate. “James Barnes,” Poleznym says softly, sweetly, “I am _nothing_ like you. I am a _shadow_ compared to you. You’ve lived a life – before all this, you laughed and danced and loved and you _were loved_. You can go back to that now, but me? What can I go back to? I was born like this, what could I ever truly know about what it is to be human? To sympathize? To _empathize_?”

“Poleznym,” Bucky breathes. 

Poleznym drops his hands and steps back. He tilts his head to the side. “I do hope you’ve made up with Steve,” Polzenym says. “I did vast amounts of research on you two, you know. They have whole boxes filled with files – straight from the horse’s mouth, as they say. Your mouth, that is. They made you speak about him, didn’t they?” Bucky clenches his jaw, which is answer enough. Poleznym continues: “They tried – Hydra tried to tell me it was _wrong_ and _bad_ and _corrupt_. I am just now seeing the irony,” he adds with a little laugh. Bucky cracks a small smile, which seems to delight Poleznym. “But I knew,” he continues. “I knew it was good. It was the best thing I’d ever read, all those things you did for each other. No one had ever done anything like that for me. They told me you were Steve’s weakness, when really you were his strength. You _are_ his strength. And you shouldn’t lose that just because 70 years of your life were stolen away. I can say firsthand that a moment of kindness makes up for a lifetime of cruelty. You’ve been given kindness in abundance, James Barnes.”

“I’m not sure how much I have in me, though,” Bucky admits with a self-deprecating smile.

“Don’t let them win,” Poleznym says. “They want you to feel like that, and I’m telling you – don’t let them win.”

Bucky nods because his throat is unusually tight and he’s afraid his voice might waver. Hiding his emotions, however, proves pointless as his eyes start to water. Poleznym smiles, and for once Bucky thinks it might be genuine.

“Where will you go?” Bucky asks.

Poleznym shrugs lightly and pulls his hood up again. “Alexei is gone, but there are plenty of places and people to clean up. I’ll do the best I can, with the time that’s left to me.”

“We could help,” Bucky says. After all, that was his original mission.

“I’m sure you could. But you should focus on other things.” Again, Poleznym’s eyes drift to Bucky’s window. “I hope I never see you again,” Polzenym adds lightly before turning and walking away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Not sure what exactly happened to this chapter when I originally posted it, but this version should be good. Sorry about that~
> 
> Poleznym: love guru extraordinaire. 
> 
> thank you, as always, for commenting and kudo-ing and reading. still surprises me HOW MANY OF YOU THERE ARE WHAT THE HECK
> 
> <3


	32. Chapter 32

Steve wakes up unreasonably late so he doesn’t leave for his morning run until close to 7. He meets Sam halfway out the door on his way to his Sunday morning session at the VA and they part ways outside the Tower. Steve takes his time and isn’t back until nine in the morning, well past his usual time, and he’s starving. He stops by the common floor just to peak his head in see if someone’s started breakfast, as is customary on Sundays due to some unspoken rule. They cook on a flimsy rotation and today should be Natasha’s turn. Clint is in the kitchen, which is promising, but it looks as though he’s more focused on watching the coffee pot fill than cooking anything. 

Clint glances up and Steve smiles, walking into the room and coming over to inspect. “You in charge of breakfast this morning? I thought it was Natasha’s turn.”

Clint huffs and motions to the counterspace next to the fridge where an assortment of baking items sit, some measured out in cups already. “I got hurt yesterday, so she relegated breakfast duty to me as punishment.” Steve opens his mouth to ask about the logic behind that, but Clint waves his hand in the air. “Don’t ask,” he says. “And I thought Stark was, like, a genius or something, so tell me why this is taking so damned long?”

Steve laughs, his breakfast anxiety assuaged for the time being. Clint’s a good cook, once he’s had his coffee and doesn’t forget to crack the eggs before blending them. 

Clint sees Steve staring serenely at the ingredients and he says, “It’ll be ready in thirty minutes, Cap. Promise.”

“Great. I’m gonna shower,” Steve says agreeably and heads back to the elevator.

Steve opens the front door of his apartment and notices Bucky in the kitchen right away. He’s bent over the counter, his back to Steve, writing something. Steve is careful to be quiet as he toes off his shoes, but apparently not quiet enough because Bucky turns as soon as Steve takes a step.

They’re alone, Steve realizes. This might be his only chance to get Bucky to talk, and he’s going to take it. Bucky seems to recognize his predicament, too, and he looks downright _terrified_ , his eyes slightly wide and eyebrows pinched and red in the face. His jaw clenches a couple times nervously and his eyes never leave Steve’s.

“Bucky,” Steve starts, and he tries to sound authoritative but not accusatory. “I think-“ Steve pauses as Bucky strides forward. Steve’s afraid he’s going to get punched before he even gets a word out, but then Bucky kisses Steve hard on the mouth. The momentum pushes Steve back against the door and Steve lets out a small noise of surprise, but gives in to the kiss. All better judgment has since seen its way out the door and when Bucky opens his mouth slightly, Steve follows suit, letting out a pathetic whimper when Bucky’s tongue grazes the top of Steve’s lip.

Bucky’s the one who breaks the kiss, pulls back and presses his hands into Steve’s shoulders to keep him against the door. His face is very serious, which must contrast laughably with Steve’s shock-and-awe expression.

“Okay, I need you to listen,” Bucky says. “And don’t say a word. Not a single word until I’m done. Can you do that?”

Steve closes his gaping mouth and nods once. 

“Okay,” Bucky breathes and lets go of Steve’s shoulders to look down at his own hand which is clasping a piece of paper Steve hadn’t noticed before. Bucky stares at the paper in his hands, his eyes flick back and forth as he reads something, then he closes his eyes. “Okay,” he says again, and looks at Steve. “I remember us.”

“I figured as much,” Steve says.

“I said no talking,” Bucky snaps.

Steve puts up a hand but can’t help the smile that’s growing on his face. 

“I remember us and I remember being together. I think I always remembered, it’s just that Hydra really fucked with me and with those memories in particular. They turned ‘em against me, made me think it was something it wasn’t – wrong, dirty, perverted, evil. When I started to… to feel again, I thought Hydra had really done a number because how could I feel that way about someone who was supposed to be my oldest friend? I mean, that stupid fucking museum exhibit - _best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield_ \- kept going round and round my head. I thought what I felt for you was something Hydra did to me and I didn’t want you to be subjected to that, to know that this guy that had come back, that you thought was your best friend, was up at night thinking about you… like that. 

“I used to think about you, before, when they first captured me, y’know? Just to keep sane, I’d think about you in that apartment in Brooklyn and pretend we were there together, that none of this shit had ever happened. And maybe I started talkin’ out loud ‘cause they caught on – Hydra. They learned things about you only I knew, so I must’ve told ‘em. And then they started making me talk. About you, about us, and I tried not to, but I c- I couldn’t.” Bucky swallows and Steve wants more than anything to reach out, but he has his orders. 

“Whenever I would think anything positive about you, they hurt me,” Bucky continues. “And it got to the point where I didn’t even know who you were anymore and I hated you. Because you hurt me. Thinking about you hurt, Steve. When I saw you again, after the Potomac? It took a _month_ to be able to look at you without ending up in the fetal position. When I could finally look at you, talk to you, that was better. But then I started to feel again and it was too much. Sensory overload or something and I relapsed. When you brought me here that first time? I couldn’t see you because every time I so much as _thought_ about you, it was so painful. Physically painful.

“I knew it wasn’t real, that the pain wasn’t real, that it was all in my head, but it didn’t matter. It still fucking hurt. And I ran away because I needed to not be in pain for once in my life. Except it was so much worse being away from you, as it turns out. So I worked my way back up to being able to look at you, to talk to you.

“When I came back again, I convinced myself to stay, knowing it was selfish because what I felt for you clearly wasn’t going to go away, but I thought I could deal with it in my own way, pretend not to feel like that. It was… difficult. And then I found that sketchbook.”

Steve raises his eyebrows and Bucky smiles sheepishly.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “That didn’t help. It wasn’t proof of anything, either, and for a while I let myself believe that what I felt for you wasn’t wrong, that maybe Hydra had fucked me over, and my memories were correct after all. And I was remembering a lot, especially about you. So I shared the notebook with you. I thought, if I could get you to tell me the truth, I could handle it.

“I was wrong. And I’m so sorry. I think I’ll never forgive myself for saying… all those things. It’s just… that’s what Hydra did to me. When faced with irrevocable proof – a photo – I reverted back. I was so angry, so bitter and I didn’t even know at what. 

“I talked to Sam. And he helped. He helped a lot. I think I owe him my life, if I’m being sincere. He told me to go at my own pace, which, in hindsight, actually wasn’t the best advice because my pace involved cutting you out. But being around other people – people affected by you, but not you, helped me clear my head enough to think straight. I went to Maria, asked her how I could help the team, how I could prove that I was fit enough to start fixing my mistakes. And she told me to work with everyone and she’d watch and decide whether or not I could deal with a real battle. Even if I passed her scrutiny, it’s still on a trial-by-trial basis. I don’t blame her, exactly. 

“Because I lied. I’m not better. Well, I am, but not entirely and I know it’s a process. I’ve got Sam’s voice in my head telling me it’s an uphill battle and recovery isn’t a destination and all that shit. I don’t sleep. When I do sleep, I have nightmares and I wake up screaming so hard I don’t make a sound or bite down on my arm until I bleed. Sometimes when I think about you, I still feel pain, but honest to God, Steve, I think it’s worth it. Because on the blessed nights when I don’t have nightmares, it’s because I’m dreaming of you.”

Bucky finally stops for breath, eyes wide and pleading, so desperately, gloriously full of emotion that Steve is lost for words. He’s also still under orders not to speak. He stares at Bucky imploringly.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says, his earnest expression crumpling into sadness. “I shouldn’t have assumed you would… reciprocate. After everything I’ve done to you. And it’s been so long.” He pauses again and studies Steve’s face as if he might read the answer there.

“Well, say something,” Bucky says impatiently.

“Oh, thank God,” Steve breathes and lunges forward to capture Bucky’s mouth with his own. This time it’s Bucky’s turn to be surprised. It’s not a particularly good kiss since they’re both trying not to smile and failing spectacularly at it.

Steve puts one hand on Bucky’s neck, his fingers pulling lightly on the hair at his nape while his thumb traces the edge of his jaw. Bucky moans weakly and it sends a jolt of warmth straight to Steve’s dick. It’s the first time in months that feeling hasn’t been entirely uncomfortable or inconvenient and now all Steve wants is _more_.

His mind has other ideas.

“Buck, Bucky, wait,” Steve says breathlessly as Bucky kisses his way down Steve’s jaw to the pulsepoint on his neck. Bucky’s thumbs dig into his hips sharply as Steve tries to pull away.

“What?” Bucky whines into Steve’s neck.

Steve puts his hands on either side of Bucky’s face and forces him to look up. Bucky’s lips are red, his pupils blown and God, Steve’s missed that look more than anything he left behind in the 40s. Steve leans forward again to kiss Bucky slow and chaste.

“Don’t you think we should take this slow?” Steve asks. He presses his forehead against Bucky’s. 

Bucky sighs and looks down, those pretty, dark eyelashes brushing his cheeks as he does so. “Steve,” Bucky says finally, looking back up. “It’s been 70 years. Exactly how much longer do you wanna wait?” Bucky grins rakishly and Steve feels himself grow red because he knows that look is reserved for him. Bucky’s right hand slides down Steve’s shirt – he’s still wearing his jogging outfit and his gym shorts aren’t exactly hiding much – and he palms Steve through his pants. 

Steve swallows and tells himself he has to be the bigger man, even if he can’t see straight and all he wants to do is rut up against Bucky for the next few decades like a horny teenager. “Bucky,” Steve says, and _when did he back Bucky up against the wall of the kitchen?_ “Bucky, you have to tell me if you- _fuck_ ,” Steve whimpers when Bucky’s hand finds its way past his shorts, with one thin layer of cloth between them. “Bucky!” Steve says desperately, because he _will_ get his point across. Bucky looks up at him, smirking, but Steve glares back. “Tell me if you need to stop,” Steve finishes.

Bucky rolls his eyes.

“I’m serious,” Steve says.

“I know, I know,” Bucky says, and the incessant toying of Steve’s hard cock through his pants stops for a moment. “I’ll let you know. If it’s too much,” Bucky promises. 

“Thank you,” Steve says sincerely. He grins wolfishly and flattens Bucky against the wall with his body, pressing his half-hard dick against Bucky while he kisses him. Steve opens his mouth and Bucky slides his tongue in. The feeling is equally thrilling as it is familiar. Bucky opens his mouth to breathe and Steve presses his tongue against Bucky’s, takes his upper lip with his teeth and sucks. He wanders down to Bucky’s jaw, worries a kiss against the harsh stubble there before inching down to his neck. Steve nips at the tendon and is delighted to hear Bucky sigh with pleasure.

“Steve,” Bucky breathes. 

Steve looks at him.

“As great as this feels against my spine…” Bucky lets his head fall back on the wall behind him, staring at Steve under hooded eyes with a little half-smile.

“Right,” Steve says and steps back. Bucky grabs Steve’s wrist and pulls him to Steve’s bedroom. He pushes Steve inside and kicks the door closed behind them. Bucky pulls his shirt over his head and Steve follows suit. Bucky is three feet away from him and yet Steve can feel the heat pulsing between them as Bucky takes his sweet time undoing the tie on his sweatpants. The fabric pools at his feet and _Bucky is wearing Steve’s underwear_. Steve knows they’re his because Tony had them ordered special – Steve’s actually never worn them because of how ostentatious they are, even for him. But the way those stars and stripes hug Bucky’s thighs is really doing it for Steve. He’ll thank Tony later. 

“How long have you been raiding my closet?” Steve asks, not bothering to hide the fact that his eyes are _wandering_ and they like what they see. 

Bucky tilts his head and smiles. “A few weeks?” he guesses.

“I didn’t realize your borrowing extended to my underwear drawer,” Steve notes, incredulous. 

“You want them back?” Bucky asks and he places his right hand – no longer bandaged, Steve notes absently – on his hip, tugging at the waistband.

Steve closes the gap between them in one stride, covering Bucky’s incessant smirk with his mouth. Bucky’s right hand explores Steve’s chest, his abs, before taking root at his hip. He tugs at Steve’s shorts absently until they fall to the floor. Steve steps out of them as Bucky pushes them toward the bed. Steve feels the mattress at the back of his legs and he sits. He stares up at Bucky reverently. His long hair is no longer pulled back, instead falling messily around his face. Steve had never pictured Bucky with long hair before, and selfishly he wonders if Bucky will ever cut it. Steve doesn’t hate it. Really, it’s a bit of a revelation that he’s finding it as attractive as he does right now and all he wants to do is run his hands through it.

Bucky slides onto the bed, pushing one knee on either side of Steve to straddle him. Bucky pushes a hand through Steve’s hair and tugs at the back. Steve preens at the touch, wants more, and realizes Bucky’s left hand has been largely uninvolved. 

Steve presses his palm against the metal of Bucky’s upper arm. He expects it to be cold, but it’s actually as warm as any other part of Bucky. Steve glances back at Bucky’s face to gauge his reaction and Bucky watches Steve’s hand on his arm closely with a slight frown.

Steve moves his hand to Bucky’s metal forearm, slides his fingers along the inside until he reaches his palm. Steve turns the hand; he’s never gotten to look at it this close for this long. It’s a work of art, truly. Each line, plate, and crease strategic and beautiful. Steve brings the hand to his mouth and kisses the palm. He then kisses each finger, light and chaste, while never looking away from Bucky’s face. He’s blushing more than ever watching Steve.

“Are you embarrassed?” Steve asks quietly.

Bucky swallows and shakes his head. He corrects himself: “Maybe. I don’t know. It’s never felt like a part of me. Or if it did, then not a part I’m proud of.”

Steve hums in understanding. “Well, I like it,” Steve says simply.

Bucky huffs a laugh. Steve guides the hand to his face before letting go to grab Bucky and pull him down for a kiss. It takes a second, but soon Bucky’s forgotten to care about his left hand and he’s rubbing warm circles into the back of Steve’s neck with it.

Steve scoots back on the bed without breaking their kiss. It’s softer now, less hurried and hungry and more exploratory. Bucky meets Steve’s tongue halfway and Steve loves the way he tastes like coffee and mint. Steve pulls away to kiss Bucky’s chin then his neck, stopping to suck at his clavicle. Bucky hums a note of pleasure as Steve travels lower to his chest. Bucky’s hands travel to Steve’s shoulders and then pushes gently so Steve falls on his back. He leans down to ghost a kiss on Steve’s lips before moving to his chest, then his navel, then his hip bone. Steve’s muscles clench at the soft touch and he’s practically squirming as Bucky pushes his thumbs into the waistband of his boxerbriefs to pull them down a fraction of an inch at a time, each pull followed by a brush of lips to the newly exposed skin. One more tug and the base of Steve’s cock is visible. Steve whimpers when Bucky presses a kiss there.

“Bucky, please,” Steve pleads.

Bucky laughs before he concedes, pulling them off as Steve pushes his hips in the air. His dick is so hard it hurts, pre-come dripping from the head.

Bucky inches out of his own underwear and tosses them to the floor. His cock isn’t nearly as erect and Steve decides to fix that. 

“When’s the last time we did this?” Bucky asks, looming over Steve on all fours. He pushes at Steve’s thighs so he can kneel between them.

“1945,” Steve answers breathlessly. 

Bucky grinds down with his hips and the feeling of skin-to-skin contact is enough to make Steve see stars. Bucky thrusts a few more times, their cocks rubbing together clumsily. Steve reaches down and takes Bucky in hand. Bucky inhales sharply at the contact and closes his eyes as Steve starts up a rhythm. It’s slow at first. Steve watches Bucky’s face closely as he strokes him. Bucky’s mouth his agape, his hair hanging limply around his face.

Steve stops once Bucky starts to fuck himself into Steve’s fist. He groans at the loss of contact. “Fuck,” Bucky breathes. He opens his eyes to stare down at Steve. His pupils are so blown Steve can hardly see the ring of blue around them. “I wanna fuck you,” Bucky says and Steve groans loudly at the words.

He looks to the side and points at his bedside table. “Lube,” Steve says, then flushes when he thinks Bucky must think he’d been planning this when really it comes standard in every Stark bedroom; Steve’s never even opened it.

Bucky reaches over and opens the drawer. He finds the lube and stares at the bottle for a long moment. “I have the same one in my bedroom,” he notes. He thumbs it open and pours a generous amount in his hand. He rubs his fingers together before leaning over Steve again. He pushes Steve’s right leg back and presses a finger to his opening without pushing in, teasing.

“Fuck, c’mon, Buck,” Steve hisses and then Bucky pushes in. The feeling is overwhelming at first. It’s been so long since Steve’s done this, but the lube helps. It’s surprisingly warm and it doesn’t take long for his body to relax around Bucky’s finger. Bucky pushes another one in, opening him up further. The pressure is welcome and Steve moans as Bucky fucks his fingers in and out slowly. 

“God, I missed this,” Bucky breathes. He kisses the inside of Steve’s thigh before finally pushing a third finger in.

Steve cries out and Bucky stills for a moment, watching Steve’s face. When he starts moving again, Steve’s eyes close. Bucky pushes in and out for a long time until Steve’s begging for more. When Bucky pulls out, Steve whimpers. Then Bucky lines himself up. He pushes both of Steve’s legs back and touches the head of his cock to Steve’s opening while he grabs the bottle of lube and pours it in his hand. He strokes himself with the liquid until he’s dripping with it. Finally, he pushes in an inch and stops. It’s so gloriously tight Steve thinks he might actually die from the overload of sensations coursing through him. 

“You feel so good,” Bucky breathes.

“Fuck, just fucking fuck me!” Steve barks. It’s apparently all Bucky needs to hear. He snaps his hips forward, pushing into Steve so he’s completely buried in him.

It’s painful and amazing and all Steve can see is Bucky’s fucked-out face over him and it’s _perfect_.

Bucky pulls out and pushes in again, slower this time, picking up a rhythm until the tightness dissipates and all Steve wants is _more, harder, faster_. Bucky obliges, snapping his hips into Steve loudly, quickly. They keep it up for what feels like hours but can only be minutes. Bucky stills, sits up, and pushes Steve’s knees back even farther. He slides his left hand under Steve’s back and lifts his ass off the mattress. Bucky pushes in again and at this angle, he’s hitting Steve’s prostate with every thrust.

Steve’s always been the loud one and right now he’s praying the floor and ceiling are just as soundproof as the walls because the noises he’s making are obscene.

Bucky fucks him relentlessly, picking up speed and bringing Steve right to the edge before tapering off, thrusting slowly again. It’s maddening and so, so hot that by the time Steve’s sure he’s going to come, he can’t actually speak the words. All he can cry out is Bucky’s name as every muscle in his body tightens and he spills over himself.

Bucky fucks into him hard again, never slowing down even when Steve is so spent all he can do is lie there, until he comes, whispering Steve’s name like a prayer. 

He pulls out of Steve and collapses to his left. Steve barely has enough energy to turn his head and watch Bucky come down from his high; it’s a beautiful sight.

“Alsace,” Steve says after a few long minutes of nothing but breathing.

Bucky turns his head to give Steve a confused look. 

“That’s the last time we did this. Alsace, 1945. Strasbourg, I believe.”

Bucky snorts a laugh. “Yeah, I remember. Not sure that really counts.”

“What? Course it counts. Why wouldn’t it count?” Steve turns on his side and frowns down at Bucky. 

Bucky pillows his hands behind his head. “We were under heavy artillery fire, holed up in some nice Christian folks’ home all night.”

A grin spreads across Steve’s face as he recalls the night. It’d been freezing, so no one batted an eye when Steve and Bucky decided to share the bed on the top floor. The windows were boarded up and there was only one door – with a working lock, no less. 

“Yeah, still not sure how that doesn’t count,” Steve says.

“How am I the one who feels guilty about having a quickie while poor Gabe sat downstairs freezing his ass off on watch?” Bucky asks. Steve laughs loudly, throwing his head back. Bucky smiles back at him. “And it didn’t count because you never came.”

“It was too cold for that.”

“I did just fine,” Bucky points out.

“That’s because you had my mouth to keep you warm,” Steve says, eyebrows raised suggestively.

“I offered to return the favor.”

“Yeah, you and I both know why that didn’t happen.” Steve has a mouth on him and that was still true back in 1945. If he could build up to it during sex, he might be able to stifle his cries, but he was absolutely lost on blowjobs. Something about having Bucky’s pretty mouth on his dick erased all inhibitions, even in the middle of a damn war. 

“Well, we can be as loud as we want now,” Bucky says. He rolls onto his front and picks himself up to crawl across Steve. He kisses his navel and licks a stripe across the skin just above Steve’s dick. 

Steve’s sure he can’t get hard again, not so soon after, and yet his cock responds enthusiastically, twitching at the very thought of Bucky’s mouth. Bucky traces his tongue up the side of his hardening cock and then envelops the head in his mouth. It’s hot and wet and so incredible, Steve’s not sure he could speak if he wanted to. He’s still hypersensitive from just getting off not five minutes ago, but a minute of Bucky’s tongue massaging him up and down has him numb and painfully erect again.

“Fuck,” Steve whimpers as he watches Bucky take him into his mouth again and again. Once, twice, three times Steve hits the back of Bucky’s throat and lets out a high moan of pleasure at the sensation.

Then, Steve’s stomach growls loudly and Bucky stills. He slides off Steve’s dick with a sinful _pop_. 

“Sorry,” Steve huffs. “Haven’t eaten.”

“Then we’d better make this quick,” Bucky replies. “And Stevie?”

Steve swallows and watches as Bucky’s mouth quirks into a little smile.

“I wanna hear every sound that comes outta your mouth,” Bucky says and takes Steve in his mouth again. Steve groans and fists the sheets under him as he arches his back into the sensation. 

Bucky’s hand reaches out and finds Steve’s. He pulls Steve’s hand to the back of his head and Steve gets a fistful of hair. He tugs lightly and feels Bucky groan around his cock. Steve pushes Bucky’s hair back from his face, gathering it at the back of his head where he can get a better grip.

Bucky takes Steve’s length in and out until it’s all Steve can do to hold on for a little bit longer. He moans loudly at every new pressure and at some point he starts fucking into Bucky’s mouth.

“Fuck, I’m gonna-“ Steve cries out as he comes in Bucky’s mouth, watches as he lets the come dribble out of his mouth, around the head of Steve’s cock. It’s so fucking iniquitous, so unbelievably hot. 

Bucky crawls up and kisses Steve hard on the mouth, pressing his tongue in so Steve can taste himself, all salt and sweat and sex. A minute of lazy kissing and Steve thinks he can see straight again.

Bucky is laying half on top of him, both of his hands fisted in Steve’s hair. “If we want breakfast, we’ll have to wear clothes. And maybe not be covered in come,” Steve says.

“Mm,” Bucky replies lazily and plants another kiss on the side of Steve’s mouth. “Only maybe?”

Steve laughs and lightly pushes on Bucky until he rolls off. He gets off the bed and pads into the bathroom to wet a hand towel. He comes back and stops just to stare at the sight of Bucky, completely naked and mussed on his bed. Bucky reaches out his right hand and Steve crawls back onto the bed, handing the towel to him. Bucky starts wiping at the mess they’ve made, mostly on Steve’s stomach.

When they’re considerably more presentable, they get up to pull their clothes on. Steve digs through his dresser to find a new pair of briefs and jeans to wear while Bucky slides back into his old clothes. Steve is digging through the top drawer in search of a shirt when he feels two hands on his sides and then a pressure on his back. 

“I hope that was okay,” Bucky says softly into Steve’s bare back.

Steve turns to Bucky, frowning slightly. “Of course it was. It was better than okay. Are you…?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just… wanted to make sure this is what you want. You’ve had a lot more time to… move on. If that’s what… I’m not assuming this was anything more than fun for you, I mean-“

Steve shuts him up with a kiss. “Bucky,” Steve says, “you are all I ever wanted, will ever want, forever. And it was fun. But I’d like to do it again. Soon. And often. Maybe for the rest of our lives, if that’s okay with you.”

Bucky smiles wide. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be okay,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCKING FINALLY
> 
> so there really only are a couple chapters left? at least one, which i've already written. and then i think an epilogue of sorts? i haven't gotten that one figured out yet, so we'll see how it goes. 
> 
> THANK YOU FOR READING AND COMMENTING ALDKFJ: IT MEANS SO MUCHHHH


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote a bonus chapter that takes place after the previous chapter and before this one. However, I wrote it after I finished the fic, so feel free to keep reading as planned and come back to it. However, if you want a little fluff before it gets serious again, [read it](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4147149)!

The suit is starched to hell and Bucky is reminded of the first time he wore this uniform. Not this exact uniform – he’s sure the real thing is stuffed in the back of a museum storeroom somewhere – but similar enough that it brings sharp memories to the forefront of his mind as he stares in the mirror.

He pushes down the front, stands tall, shoulders back. A familiar face comes up behind him and smiles.

“Smart as always, Buck,” Steve says. There’s mirth in his eyes, but Bucky’s too anxious to reply with something sarcastic.

They’re alone in the empty halls of the judicial building in Manhattan. A few cushy armchairs sit unused against the wall across from the large, decorative mirror.

Bucky sighs and has to stop himself from running a hand through his newly shorn hair. He hadn’t wanted to cut it, but Steve was right; the more he looked like the guy who fell off the Schnellzug EB912 in the Alps and less like the assassin who blew up a couple streets in D.C., the better.

“It’s gonna be fine,” Steve says for what has to be the 30th time that day. And it’s only 9 in the morning. 

Bucky nods, but can’t stop himself from panicking as soon as the huge oak doors open to his left. It’s just a civilian leaving for the bathroom, though, and Bucky wants to collapse in relief. 

Steve gives Bucky a sympathetic look. He hates how blasé Steve is about this. Then again, it’s not Steve being tried for treason. 

“You look good,” Bucky comments weakly, because he’s willing to talk about anything but what’s ahead. And Steve _does_ look good. His uniform is cut perfectly, accentuating his form in all the right places.

Steve tilts his head to the side a little and smiles. He puts a strong hand on Bucky’s shoulder and squeezes. “I’ll be right there the whole time,” he says.

Bucky nods. “I know,” he says. “Thanks for coming.”

Steve huffs. “Wouldn’t miss it.” 

The doors open again and this time Natasha pokes her head around the door. “Ready for you, Barnes,” she says.

  


* * *

  


“…Article 32, referring the pre-trial investigation and hearing conducted on December 10th, 2014, where the following charges have been referred to trial for court-martial...”

Bucky has tunnel vision, can barely remember to bend his knees so he doesn’t pass out. Stark had made good on his promise of no press and the room is filled with blank-faced civilians, a jury of military officers, and every single one of the Avengers; even Thor, Jane, and Darcy arrived a week before to be there.

The judge, a tall, severe-looking woman with pinned-back black hair, reads the charges and each one is like a knife twisting in Bucky’s gut.

“Desertion, absence without leave, missing movement, failure to obey order or regulation, resistance, flight, breach of arrest, and escape, aiding the enemy, spying, espionage, murder, fraud against the United States, fraternization, negligent homicide…”

Bucky can’t do this. He can’t justify his actions, not when everyone in this court knows what he’s done. He’s guilty, he’s guilty, he’s _guilty_.

“…the nature of the offense to which the plea is offered, the mandatory minimum penalty, if any, provided by law, and the maximum possible penalty provided by law…”

How could he possibly get out of this? He belongs in prison, he’s known that for a long time. Steve has to understand – he’s a danger and he deserves to pay for his crimes. He’s grateful Steve didn’t push the legal counsel thing. If Bucky is going down for his crimes, then he’s doing it by himself. He doesn’t need a lawyer to tell him what to say and do. This is cut and dry.

“…the accused has the right to plead not guilty, or to persist in that plea if already made, and that the accused has the right to be tried by a court-martial, and that at such trial the accused has their right to confront and cross-examine witnesses against the accused, and the right against self-incrimination…”

The jury of officers sits ahead of Bucky, each as stoic as the next. None of them are looking at Bucky, which is just as well because Bucky’s sure he’s about to puke. 

What’s Steve going to do when Bucky goes against their plan? When he pleads guilty? Bucky wishes he could turn around to catch Steve’s eye, tell him he’s sorry. Not sorry for giving himself up, but for betraying his trust. 

“…if the accused pleads guilty, there will not be a trial of any kind as to those offenses to which the accused has so pleaded, so that by pleading guilty the accused waives the rights described in subsection c-3 of this Rule…”

Steve will kill him if he does this. Sam had told Bucky something that inconveniently resurfaces now – that Steve hasn’t been this happy since Sam’s known him and that’s all because of Bucky. Natasha had echoed this sentiment. Steve smiles easier, laughs harder, spends less time running himself ragged and being reckless because Bucky is there.

If Bucky’s in jail, what will happen to Steve?

“…if the accused pleads guilty, the military judge will question the accused about the offenses to which the accused has pleaded guilty, and, if the accused answers these question under oath, on the record, and in the presence of counsel, the accused’s answers may later be used against the accused in a prosecution for perjury or false statement…”

Bucky turns slightly to the right and studies the profile of the man representing the United States Army in the trial. This could be over much faster. This guy could get back to his family. Bucky doesn’t want to drag this out, but God, what about Steve? 

_And what about yourself?_ an annoying voice echoes in the back of his head. It sounds infuriatingly like Sam. Is it really that selfish to plead not guilty? According to Steve and Sam, Bucky _isn’t_ guilty of these offenses. None of them were done while in the service, before he was taken by Hydra. He was brainwashed and broken and beaten into submission. 

Sam listed off prisoners of war who had been forced to turn against their country. Bucky wasn’t alone in that respect, but those guys also hadn’t killed a fucking president.

“How does the accused plead?”

Bucky swallows and lifts his eyes to meet the judge’s. 

“Not guilty.”

-

It’s not a long trial, but it’s a military court, so everything is done to code. Long swathes of conversation are lost on Bucky because he can’t focus for too long without his head pounding. He wishes Steve were next to him.

They’re given a short recess. Steve stands with his hands in his pockets looking chipper as ever behind the gate in the courtroom.

“Let me buy you a coffee,” Steve says and Bucky follows him outside.

There’s a kiosk a block from the courthouse selling disgusting coffee that leaves a chalky aftertaste in their mouths. Steve offers the woman a five-dollar bill for the drinks, but she waves her hand. “For your service,” she says with a serious look. She indicates their uniforms and is already speaking to the next customer before Steve can protest.

Bucky withers at the compliment even as they make their way back. 

“You’re doing really well up there,” Steve tells him.

“I haven’t done anything yet,” Bucky points out. It’s true; the past two hours have been a lengthy reading of the offenses, proffering of evidence, reading accounts. Luckily there are no witnesses to testify. Steve had wanted to testify on Bucky’s behalf, but he refused. If he gets off these charges, he wants it to be on his own merit, not anyone else’s distorted view of him.

“Remember the plan?” Steve asks a little quieter, a little more conspiratorial. 

Bucky huffs. “Yeah, I remember the plan.” 

If Bucky doesn’t get off scot-free, Steve has promised they can run away together. South America, Australia, Europe? A few countries have been tossed around. It’s all play, Bucky knows, but he’s grateful for the daydream anyway. 

“Look,” Steve says, coming to a stop at the courthouse steps. “Natasha had it a lot worse. She willfully did a lot of shit for the KGB, killed a lot of people, and she’s still walking around a free woman.” 

Bucky turns away, but Steve catches him and puts a hand on the side of his face. His fingers are surprisingly warm given the cold February weather. “You’re gonna be fine,” he says seriously and rubs his thumb against the line of Bucky’s jaw. 

Bucky wants to lean forward and kiss him, but that’s a whole other bridge they’ve yet to cross. One thing at a time; the public’s still coming to terms with Bucky’s reappearance. If he starts kissing Steve, too, it may cause a media frenzy. Instead, Bucky smiles as genuinely as he can before leading the way back inside.

  


* * *

  


_I admit the given offenses were done, but not in an autonomous state with a willful mind or any semblance of knowledge regarding the consequences of the actions. At the time of the offenses, from 1945 to 2014, a period of 69 years, I was not in full control of my mental or physical state and therefore deny that these offenses should reflect in any way on my current state of mind. With professional help, I hope to make a full recovery while assisting the United States and its people in an effort to relieve the damage I have unwillingly and unwittingly caused._

It’s a speech Bucky’s practiced dozens of times in front of Steve, in front of Sam, in front of the rest of the Avengers. He hopes it doesn’t sound as stilted as he feels and if the board of military dignitaries reacts, it doesn’t show in any of their faces.

Bucky expects the deliberation will take an hour, maybe longer. He presses himself against the wall of the judicial hall and tries to pick up pieces of the conversation going on around him. Natasha is scolding Clint for wearing jeans to a hearing while Darcy complains about the existence of dress codes in the first place; Jane, Maria, Pepper, and Tony are attempting to explain the entire court system to Thor who seems confused by the lack of physical combat involved. Sam and Bruce are too far to hear, but judging by the way Sam holds his arms out, he’s speaking about his wings. Steve walks over to stand by Bucky.

“Almost over,” Steve says.

Bucky nods, but can’t help the way he clenches his fists by his side or the way his stomach roils at the thought of going back in there.

“You did so well,” Steve adds.

“I just wish it was over already.”

Steve smiles sympathetically. He puts his hands on either side of Bucky’s neck and leans in to kiss him, quick and chaste. It’s enough to snap Bucky out of his doomed reverie. Steve smiles, still close enough that Bucky can smell the terrible coffee on his breath. Bucky’s eyes dart past Steve to the rest of the team. If anyone noticed, they aren’t looking now. Not that it matters; they all know. But Bucky still can’t believe he can kiss Steve in broad daylight without fear of going to jail – or worse, getting the shit beat out of him.

The doors to the courtroom open and Steve drops his hands and steps back. “Ready?” Steve asks.

“As I’ll ever be,” Bucky replies.

  


* * *

  


“On the charge of desertion, we, the jury, find the accused not guilty. On the charge of absence without leave, we, the jury, find the accused not guilty...”

Not guilty.

Not guilty.

_Not guilty._

Bucky can hardly believe what he’s hearing. He’s sure there’s been some mistake. These people, these officers look at him like he’s nothing and yet their verdict supposes his innocence. 

“On the grounds that at the time of the commission of the acts constituting the aforementioned offenses, the accused, as a result of severe mental incapacity, was unable to appreciate the nature and quality or the wrongfulness of his acts. When the defense of lack of mental responsibility is in issue under RCM 916 k-1, we, the jury, voted on whether the defense has proven the elements of the defense. A majority of the members present concur that the accused has proven lack of mental responsibility by clean and convincing evidence, therefore a finding of not guilty only by reason of lack of mental responsibility results.”

The judge nods her head as if the verdict doesn’t surprise her. But how can it not? How can she look at Bucky and not see him for the traitor he is?

“Your honor,” the foreman continues, “once court is adjourned, we request that the defense remain so I may speak to him.”

“Granted,” the judge replies.

_What in fuck’s name is happening?_

The trial wraps up quickly and the judge disappears in the back. Bucky remains standing, his feet stuck to the tiled floor because soon he’ll wake from this strange dream and find himself in cuffs, right? The foreman – a General with a kind face and thick-rimmed glasses – comes up to Bucky. He extends his hand, which Bucky takes automatically.

“Sergeant, on behalf of the United States Army and the President of the United States, the following awards are to be presented to you at a time of your choosing in a ceremony presided over by at least one military officer of higher ranking.” The man looks down at a sizable stack of papers in his hand and begins reading: “The Army of Occupation Medal, the Army Superior Unit Award, the Army Achievement Award, the Army Commendation Medal, the Meritorious Service Medal, the Defense Meritorious Service Medal, the Distinguished Service Medal, the Distinguished Service Cross, the Silver Star, the Prisoner of War Medal, and the Medal of Honor.” The General smiles at Bucky as he hands over the papers and a series of whoops and clapping erupt behind Bucky.

Bucky takes the papers and stares down at them. Each is a letter congratulating James Buchanan Barnes on his achievement on fine cardstock paper.

“You been gone a long time, Sergeant,” the General continues. “A lot of us grew up reading about your service, wanting to be you when we grew up. It only seems right you finally get what’s owed to you. Welcome home, soldier.” Again, the General shakes Bucky’s hand. Bucky wishes he could speak, thank the man, but he’s dumbfounded, completely shaken to his core. Of all the possible outcomes Bucky imagined for this trial, a series of commendations certainly wasn’t one of them. 

Bucky finally turns around and comes face-to-face with Steve who’s grinning from ear-to-ear. 

“Congratulations, Sergeant,” Steve says and extends his hand. Bucky takes it, finally letting himself smile back. Steve laughs at the look of bewilderment on Bucky’s face. “C’mon,” Steve says. “Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more information about the awards Bucky won, check [this wiki page](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Awards_and_decorations_of_the_United_States_Army) out. Very informative and COOL.
> 
> Also, a lot of the dialogue is taken straight from the Court-Martial Manual, which is super interesting (if you're really into technical writing, which is my literal job, so there ya go). One change I made in the wording had to do with the Mental Responsibility plea, which used some outdated language regarding mental disabilities and... it's 2015, guys. C'mon. (Then again it's the government and my work computer was JUST UPDATED with WINDOWS 7 last week so I shouldn't be surprised.) ["In a Perfect World" by Simple Plan plays in the background] 
> 
> 10,000+ hits, 400 kudos, and 60+ bookmarks. Like, that just blows my gorram MIND. Seriously, I am beside myself that this ridiculous thing has even half that many people vaguely interested. (Let alone you commenters who have a special place in my sad excuse for a heart.)
> 
> Allow me to be a little bit of an emotional wreck because I've just written the last line of this fic and I'm a little bit in denial. This chapter wraps up the court-martial thing and the next will be a fluffy epilogue. It's short and it covers an important topic. (Think of it as a thesis statement, that's what I did. But I have a B.A. in English so maybe that's weird????) I'll definitely have a lot to say at the end of the next chapter in regard to the one-shots I have planned that'll make this story a series.
> 
> Anyway, glad you all are still reading and enjoying this. <33333
> 
> As always, I can be found on [tumblr](http://castiowl.tumblr.com) where all questions about this fic (and others) can be directed. Or just shoot the shit about these stupid gay boys. OR The Song of Achilles, which I've just finished reading and i cANNoT BlIE VE HOW PAINFul THAT was.
> 
> I digress.
> 
> THANK YOU.


	34. Chapter 34

It’s hard to believe it’s only been three weeks since Bucky kissed Steve again for the first time in 70 years. Two weeks after that is the court-martial; there’s a notable change in Bucky’s demeanor because of it. Perhaps he needed the official pardon, maybe he just needed to hear he was innocent from the mouth of someone with no vested interest in his emotional wellbeing. Whatever the reason, he’s easier now – the way he holds himself, the way he speaks and jokes and laughs.

Steve loves that the rest of his team gets to see this side of Bucky – the side he missed the most. He’s rakish yet charming, and witty without being harsh. He holds his own against the best of them in banter, most surprisingly Natasha who has always been the king of well-timed insults. (Although it’s hard to tell sometimes who wins since their interactions tend to peter out into unintelligible Russian.)

Steve repositions the pillow behind his back, pressed against the headboard of his bed, and studies the sleeping man next to him. In just a couple of short weeks, Bucky’s hair is already longer and Steve wonders idly if he’ll grow it out again. Steve looks down at the sketchbook held against his raised knees and erases a contour line around Bucky’s nose. 

Is Steve’s hair too long? He can’t remember the last time he got it cut; Natasha is his go-to hairdresser and they’ve both been too busy. He runs a hand through his hair absently. It’s long, but not overly so. It’s more like the length he used to wear in the 40s, when he was too small and his nose didn’t fit his face.

Steve fills in the shadow under Bucky’s chin, traces the soft lines of his parted lips with his pencil, and sketches out the ends of Bucky’s metal fingers, softly gripping the edge of the pillow under his head.

Twenty minutes pass by before Bucky finally stirs. Most mornings are good; today is no exception. But other times Steve has woken with a hand around his neck or to the sound of terrified, ragged breathing, or, on the really bad days, screaming. 

Every morning seems to take Bucky by surprise, his eyes opening slowly, then snapping open before he can take in his surroundings. His body tenses until finally, finally his muscles relax and he remembers where he is, who he’s with, why he’s mostly naked in a bed in New York City. 

“Morning,” Steve greets with a smile.

Bucky yawns as he turns over on his back and scoots himself forward so he can press his cheek against Steve’s shoulder and look at what he’s drawing. He lets out an annoyed breath.

“You know I hate it when you draw me sleeping,” Bucky notes tiredly.

“Yeah, well, it’s the only time you’re ever a proper model.”

Steve lets out a small yelp when Bucky jabs him in the side.

“I’m an _excellent_ model,” Bucky corrects him. “You got a whole porn-y sketchbook to prove that.”

Steve snorts a laugh. Bucky slides back into the bed, burying himself in blankets and pressing his nose against Steve’s side.

Steve sketches for a few more minutes; Bucky is quiet, but not asleep. Steve closes the book and drops it onto the floor with the pencil and eraser. Then he slides down to join Bucky nose-to-nose under the warm blankets. Bucky never opens his eyes, but he smiles when Steve plants a soft kiss on his nose.

“Can I ask you a question?” Steve asks quietly.

“Mm,” Bucky replies.

Steve chews on the words before he says them, unsure of how to say what he means. Bucky opens his eyes slowly, brow creasing slightly in concern.

“When you first found me again on that beach,” Steve says slowly, “and we were in the car driving to Maine, you told me Bucky wasn’t your name and I agreed to call you James.”

Steve pauses and Bucky, eyebrows still pinched together in confusion, says, “Yeah, I remember.”

“Well, I mean, if you wanted to still be called that… I just don’t want you to think I’ve forgotten. I want you to be comfortable with… who you are now.”

Bucky seems to think about that, his gaze flickering between Steve’s eyes thoughtfully. “I’ve thought about it,” Bucky replies. “Before, when I told you not to call me Bucky, I was… lost. I thought everything that Bucky was – the real Bucky – was lost to time. That I was something else. Some sort of… fucked up hodgepodge of actions and reactions without an identity. Honestly, at that point, it didn’t matter what you called me; could’ve been Sally for all I cared. But I knew I wasn’t Bucky. Not the Bucky you remembered, anyway, and I didn’t want you getting any ideas.”

Steve nods once in understanding.

“Every day,” Bucky continues, “I feel more and more like myself. Like Bucky Barnes, I mean. I’ve changed, obviously. But the name is… comforting.” Bucky’s cheeks turn pink and he averts his eyes. “Especially when you say it,” he adds softly.

Steve smiles. “Oh yeah?” he says.

Bucky’s eyes flick to Steve’s and he smiles a little. “Yeah,” he says.

“Bucky,” Steve says sweetly and presses his lips to Bucky’s cheek. “Bucky,” he says again, and kisses the side of his mouth where it curls into a smile. “Bucky,” Steve whispers against his mouth before pressing in. Bucky kisses back softly, parting his lips to let out a short breath of pleasure before pressing back against Steve. 

“Say it again,” Bucky says, pulling back to look at Steve. Bucky’s cheeks are delightfully pink, a strange sight given that they’re hardly getting hot and heavy. Who knew something as simple as a name could make Bucky blush?

Steve laughs lightly. “Bucky,” he says again and again, showering Bucky with kisses, and thinking if he could only do one thing for the rest of his life, it would be this. It would be giving Bucky back to himself, piece by piece, inch by inch, and kiss by kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's oooovvvveeeerrrrrr!  
> Unreal, man.
> 
> I told you this chapter was short. And I realize there are a LOT of questions gone unanswered. (I reread the entire story and wrote down every single thing. It was a chore, I tell you.) Which is where the one-shots come in. Some are more important than others and I don't wanna give away too much because a few of them I'm really excited about. 
> 
> But they'll answer these questions:  
> Did Steve find out about Poleznym? Where is Poleznym? What happened to the other Hydra bases? Does Bucky become a regular member of the Avengers? Do Steve and Bucky leave the Tower? How did the Avengers find out about Steve and Bucky's relationship? Does Steve ever confront Peggy about his past relationship with Bucky? And, most importantly, does Bucky ever repay Sam for all that yogurt he stole?
> 
> There's a lot more than even these questions - and if you have any, please ask! If I don't already plan to answer it in a ficlet, I'll give you an answer in the comments or, as always, on [tumblr](http://castiowl.tumblr.com).
> 
> I can't thank you guys enough for sticking around through all this. And I don't just mean the fic - although that took me 2 days to get through, so god bless you all - but my disaster of a life, too, which you know more about than some of my friends lmao. 
> 
> Writing this has been SO cathartic. Even when everything was absolute shit, I could just escape to this place and that's invaluable to me. And hearing what y'all think in the comments - that you're just as weirdly emotionally invested in these dorks as I am - is heartening.
> 
> ANYWAY, THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR READING and I don't have ANY sort of timetable for when the first one-shot will be up (or even what it'll be, for that matter). I'm still also picking at the pieces of that AU I mentioned awhile ago. I've got the beginning and a little bit of a middle, so now I've just got to flesh out the details. 
> 
> OKAY, SIGNING OFF GOODBYYYYEEE
> 
> Edit: I've written a few one-shot chapters for this series wherein Steve and Bucky go apartment hunting and one wherein the rest of the Avengers discover Steve and Bucky are together. There will be more! So I would suggest [subscribing to the series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/253813) to stay up to date. As always, thank you for reading!


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